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A\D JEIiUSHA WALKING TOGETllEli 


TREET, 


'IjlTTLE /^ISS \/eEZY'S 



LEE AND SHEPARD Publishers 


ro Milk Street next “The Old South Meeting House*’ 


NEW YORK CHARLES T. DILLINGHAM 
718 AND 720 Broadway 



L 


Copyright, 1889, 

By lee and SHEPARD. 

All rights reserved. 


(intberistta : 

John Wilson and Son, Cambridge. 


CONTENTS 


Chapter Page 

I. Little Jerusha 7 

II. Molly Cooking 22 

III. The White Dress 34 

IV. A Gala Day 47 

V. Drums and Fifes 56 - 

VI. Uncle Doctor 69 

VII. A Parlor Car 81 

VIII. Shelto 94 

IX. Toodles 105 

X. Kirke and Weezy ^.113 

XI. Out of Jail . . . . - . '123 

XII. Ringing the Bell 134 

XIII. Company to Tea 146 













4 










• > 



\ 

•» 












LITTLE MISS WEEZY’S SISTER. 


CHAPTER I. 

LITTLE JERUSHA. 

Her name was Mary Rowe; but everybody 
called her “ Molly,” just as everybody called 
her sister Louise Little Miss Weezy.” She 
was now twelve years old, — more than twice as 
old as VVeezy, and in her own opinion many 
times as wise. Many times as wise as her 
brother Kirke, for that matter, though the lad 
had reached the advanced age of ten. 

Molly was a warm-hearted, quick-tempered 
girl, with a pink-and-white complexion, large 
violet eyes, and a wavy mass of tawny hair 
that she hated with all her might. 


8 


LITTLE MISS WEEZY S SISTER. 


“ I don’t see why I had to be red-headed, 
mamma,” she groaned, one morning in Sep- 
tember, as she stood before the mirror brush- 
ing her hair for school. “Kirke’s hair is almost 
black, and Weezy’s is light, and so is baby’s, — 
what there is of it, — and here is mine as red 
as a carrot ! ” 

*^Why, my silly daughter,” cried Mrs. Rowe, 
straightening Molly’s collar, “ papa and I call 
your hair auburn.” 

“And isn’t auburn another name for red, 
mamma, and don’t I know it? Oh, Mamma 
Rowe, really and truly, sometimes I wish my 
hair was gray.” 

“ Gray, Molly? It would mortify me to have 
it gray before your mamma’s,” laughed her 
mother, gayly. “ But supposing your hair was, 
as you say, as red as a carrot; what great harm 
would there be in that? Wouldn’t you prefer 
red hair to a crooked spine, like unfortunate 
Jenny Vinton’s?” 


LITTLE JERUSHA. 


9 


I ’m sure I don’t want either,” replied Molly, 
putting on her hat over a frown. 

“ Don’t scowl so, Molly, my love,” pleaded 
her mamma, smoothing away the wrinkle. 
“ If you let trifles make you wretched, what 
will become of you when real troubles ap- 
pear? ” 

“ I think the real troubles appeared last 
Monday, mamma, when I spilled the milk in 
the cooking-class,” said Molly, turning from 
the mirror with a dismal laugh. Miss Capen 
looked daggers at me.” 

Your carelessness might well have annoyed 
her ; but don’t cry, dearie, for last week’s spilled 
milk; only be sure not to spill more to-day,” 
said her mamma, with a good-by kiss. “ I want 
you to improve in cooking this term as fast 
as you can. By trying, I ’m convinced you 
can make a skilful little housekeeper.” 

My hair ’ll be red all the same, mamma ! ” 

‘^Nonsense, Molly! Oughtn’t you to care 


10 


LITTLE MISS WEEZY’S SISTER. 


more about becoming a useful woman than 
about the shade of your hair?” 

Molly was tempted to say, “ No, mamma,” but 
she could not be quite so perverse. To do the 
child justice, it was not her habit to be morbid, 
and her present mood was partly due to the 
state of her health. She had had frequent 
headaches of late, and felt nervous and languid. 
Inez Dutton, her best friend, called her cross. 

“What is the matter, Molly Rowe?” ques- 
tioned Inez, that morning, as soon as Molly 
had entered the school-yard. “What can be 
the matter? Have you swallowed a tomb- 
stone?” 

“No; Bunker Hill Monument,” answered 
Molly, grimly. 

“ Oh, Molly, do tell me the trouble. Are n’t 
you and I chums, and did n’t we promise to 
tell each other everything?” 

This could not be gainsaid, and Molly fal- 
tered, “It’s our new laundress; I overheard 


LITTLE JERUSHA. 


1 1 

her this morning asking Lovisa if that ^ red- 
headed girl ’ was a sister to Little Miss Weezy. 
Think of having Mrs. Flannigan call you ‘ that 
red-headed girl ’ ! ” 

“ Oh, Molly, I would n’t look so woebegone 
if the old thing did say it. Your hair isn’t 
much red.” 

“ You would n’t give me one curl of yours 
for it, Inez Dutton, you know you would n’t ! ” 
Of course I should n’t want to wear a wig 
of anybody else’s hair, no matter what color 
it was,” returned Inez, quickly changing the 
subject. Oh, Molly, that makes me think 
about the woman who came to our house Sat- 
urday with a brown false front on, and the 
dowdiest bonnet!” 

“Who was she?” asked Molly, with a reviv- 
ing interest in life. 

“ Oh, it ’s a long yarn, Molly. I ’ll wait till 
recess.” 

“No, don’t, Inez; tell it now, that’s a jewel,” 


12 


LITTLE MISS WEEZY’S SISTER. 


implored Molly, linking her own arm in that of 
her friend. 

There ’s no hurry, that I know of,” replied 
Inez, coolly, picking a splinter from her thumb 
with a pin ; “ maybe you would n’t think it 

funny at all.” 

“ Oh, quick, Inez, do tell it quick, before 
the bell rings ! ” cried Molly, at last aroused 
to what Inez considered the proper degree of 
curiosity. 

“Well, it’s about the drollest girl you ever 
dreamed of, Molly,” began Inez, really not a 
whit less eager to tell than Molly was to hear. 
“Such a looking thing! Hair done up in a 
little bob about 50 big.” Inez described a 
miniature circle with her thumb and forefinger. 
“And her dress! There, I don’t know what 
you ’ll say when you see it ! Skirt most down 
to her toes, and cut so queer ! ” ■ 

“Why, Inez, just now you said the story was 
about an old woman with a false front ! ” 


LITTLE JERUSHA. 


13 


Oh, yes, it ’s about her too ; she ’s the 
grandmother, — ‘ grandmarm^ the little girl calls 
her. They came to our house to see papa. 
She’s hired papa’s little yellow cottage, down 
behind the Common, — the ‘grandmarm’ has. 
They’re from the country; you’d think so! ” 
And Inez laughed so heartily that she nearly 
toppled Molly over. 

“How old is this little girl?” asked Molly, 
laughing herself to see Inez laugh. 

“ Oh, about as old as we are ; but she is n’t 
so large. And if you ’ll believe it, Molly 
Rowe, the poor thing’s name is Jerusha, — 
Jerusha Runnell! ” 

“Jerusha Runnell! What a name! I do 
hope she does n’t mind.” 

“ Maybe she ’s got used to her name as she 
has to her funny words. She talks like an old 
woman about ninety. Her grandma told me 
‘Jerushy had never had any little mates, and 
she’d be pleased to have me come and visit 


14 


LITTLE MISS WEEZY’S SISTER. 


with Jerushy.’ I wouldn’t ‘visit with her' for 
anything, though. All the time they stayed I 
was in torment for fear the grandmother would 
ask me to bring Jerusha with me to school. 
She says she ’s moved to Gallatin ‘ a purpose 
to give her granddarter some schoolin’.’ ” 

“ Oh dear, there’s the bell ! ” said Molly, run- 
ning up the steps. 

“ I must have a drink of water before I go 
in,” cried Inez, lingering. 

Molly was already seated in the schoolroom 
when pretty Inez fluttered up the aisle in her 
new muslin dress, so ruffled and fluted and 
frilled that she seemed to be skimming along 
on wings, like a great butterfly. 

“ Oh, Molly,” panted she, stopping at Molly’s 
desk, “ that Jerusha Runnell is coming to 
school ! She tried to tag me upstairs, but I 
ran as fast as I could run ! ” 

“Is she all sole alone?” whispered Molly, 
giving Inez’ hand a loving little squeeze. 


LITTLE JERUSHA. 


15 


‘‘Yes. I’m sorry for her, of course; but 
what could Ido? S’pose I was going to walk 
into school with the outlandish creature, and 
have the girls all think she was one of my 
relations? ” 

“ I hear her clumping up the stairs,” 
whispered Molly, gazing intently into the 
hall. 

“ Hear her ! you can’t help hearing her, un- 
less you have ears like a stone jar,” said Inez, 
scornfully. “ She wears calfskin shoes, tied 
with leather shoe-strings. Hark! she’s tiptoe- 
ing now along the upper hall. Look, look, 
Molly! she’s in the doorway.” 

Molly nearly laughed outright, as her eyes 
rested upon the “ outlandish creature,” in a 
bright purple dress, with a wide turned-over 
collar almost large enough for a cape. 

“Oh, Inez, Inez, it’s too perfectly comical! ” 
cried she. “The little thing looks just like a 
grandmother cut down 1 ” 


1 6 LITTLE MISS WEEZY’S SISTER. 

‘‘ Is she coming in, or is she not? ” whispered 
Inez, fluttering on up the aisle. 

In doubt what to do, the timid little waif was 
advancing and retreating across the threshold 
with the wavering motion of a toy balloon tied 
to a rubber cord, when fortunately she was 
spied by Miss True, the teacher, and called to 
the desk. 

Having registered the child’s name. Miss 
True proceeded to question her about her 
parents. 

“ I have n’t any father and mother, marm ; 
I ’most the same as never had any,” replied 
little Jerusha, seriously. 

Miss True bit her lips. 

“They’ve been dead going on ten years,” 
continued her confiding young pupil. “ My 
grandmarm brings me up. Grandmarm and I 
have always lived alone together, up at Shy 
Corner, back on a cross road ; but I could n’t 
have school privileges there.” 


LITTLE JERUSHA. 


17 


“ You know how to read, I suppose,” re- 
marked Miss True, absently, querying where 
to seat the child. 

“ Grandmarm taught me to read long ago,” 
answered little Jerusha, looking grieved. “ I 
read aloud in the Bible every night.” 

“ I am glad to know that, my dear,” said the 
teacher, smiling down upon the demure young 
maiden ; and then she sent her to sit with Inez 
Dutton. 

This was anything but agreeable to Inez. 

“What did Miss True put that little image 
with me for, Molly?” said she tartly, at recess. 
“ I think it was shabby.” 

“ Hush, hush, Inez ; Jerusha ’ll hear you,” 
cried Molly, with a warning glance toward the 
quaint little stranger, alone in a corner of the 
yard. 

“ Well, let her hear ! Let her hear all I say if 
she wants to, and then go back to the Ark and 
tell it to Mrs. Noah and the rest of ’em ! ” 


1 8 LITTLE MISS WEEZY’S SISTER. 

Don’t, Inez, — don’t make me laugh. No, 
no, you mustn’t! Jerusha knows we ’re talking 
about her, and she ’s ready to cry ! ” exclaimed 
Molly, walking slowly forward with her eyes 
upon the ground. Don’t look at her ! Come, 
let’s be hunting for pins.” 

“ H — m I it ’s easy enough for you to pity 
that little Mother Hubbard,” snarled Inez, fol- 
lowing ungraciously. “ If I were you, I ’d pity 
me too!” 

You’ve made a rhyme that’s worth a dime,” 
laughed Molly, “ and I do pity you too ; I 
most certainly do.” But on seeing little Jerusha 
slyly wiping her eyes upon her sleeve, she ex- 
claimed in an altered tone, My mamma says 
we must always be polite to the new scholars, 
Inez. Let’s speak to that little girl. Come!” 

“ Sha’ n’t do any such thing.” 

“Then I’m going alone. It’s a shame to 
treat her so ! ” said Molly, hotly. 

“As you please, Molly Rowe. I can walk 
with Mary Grigg.” 


LITTLE JERUSHA. 


19 


Ruffled in more senses than one, Inez fluttered 
away, while Molly, trying her best to think of 
something to talk about, joined Jerusha. 

“ Do you suppose you ’ll like coming to 
school?” she began rather timidly. 

“ I don’t like it yet, and I ’m afraid I sha’ n’t 
like it ever,” replied Jerusha, nervously finger- 
ing the string of old-fashioned gold beads that 
she wore at her neck. 

“ Oh, I hope you will,” said Molly, kindly. 
“ Don’t you think our schoolhouse is pretty? ” 

‘‘Yes, indeed! it’s terrible pretty,” returned 
Jerusha, making little wells in the ground with 
the toe of her shoe. “ It scares me, it ’s so 
bran-fire new, and fixy.” 

“ It was new this fall ; and we have the dear- 
est kitchen in it, with a cooking-range, and a 
soapstone sink, and plenty of cherry dressers, 
and everything,” continued Molly proudly, as 
if the building were her own. 

“A kitchen in school? Oh, I guess you must 


20 


LITTLE MISS WEEZY’S SISTER. 


be joking,” responded little Jerusha, all at once 
suspicious that sthe city girl was making game 
of her. 

“ No, no; truly, I’m not joking,” cried Molly. 

We have a lovely kitchen upstairs.” 

“ Well, if that does n’t beat all ! What do 
you have a kitchen in school for?” 

Why, to learn to cook. We cook one hour 
every week. We have lessons in cooking the 
same as we have lessons in arithmetic.” 

‘‘You do? Oh, I should like that!” cried 
Jerusha with sudden animation. 

“Can you cook anything?” asked Molly, grat- 
ified at her success in making conversation. 

“ I should smile if I could n’t,” answered 
Jerusha, with a gay little laugh. “ Why, when 
grandmarm was laid up with the rheumatiz a 
year ago come harvesting, I cooked all the 
victuals.” 

“ Then you ’re ahead of me. I ’ve only got to 
steamed puddings,” said Molly, humbly. “ To- 


LITTLE JERUSHA. 


21 


day, though, we’re going to begin on griddle- 
cakes and cream-of-tartar biscuits. Our class 
comes this afternoon, right after recess, and 
you ’ll be in it.” 

‘‘I shall be in your class? Oh, I’m proper 
glad.” 

Molly could not say truthfully, “ So am I,” 
but she tried to conceal her lack of cordiality 
by hastily remarking: “Hattie Fell has moved 
to Boston, and I think you ’ll be put in Hattie’s 
place at my table. She used to sit where you 
do in school.” 


CHAPTER II. 


MOLLY COOKING. 

“ I ’m glad you spoke to the lonesome little 
stranger, Molly,” said Mrs. Rowe at dinner- 
time, after listening to her daughter’s graphic 
description of Jerusha Runnell. “ I hope you’ll 
take pains to make her happy.” 

“ But I hate to be seen talking with her, 
mamma; the girls laugh at me.” 

“ Oh, Molly, you should have more sense 
than to heed their thoughtlessness. Set them 
the example of being kind to Jerusha, and I 
believe they’ll follow it.” 

“ But you don’t know how hard it is to think 
of anything to say to her, mamma,” persisted 
Molly. “ She acts as if she ’d never seen any- 
body; she’s a real, little-girl Robinson Crusoe.” 


MOLLY COOKING. 


23 


“ Those odd ways come from her having 
always lived with old people, Molly. Now she 
can have companions of her own age I dare say 
she will soon seem more like other girls,” said 
Mrs. Rowe, as her little daughter left her. 
“ From what you say, I judge Jerusha must 
be a good child ; and I want you to remember 
to treat her kindly.” 

That afternoon Molly could not help seeing 
that the little new-comer felt very ill at ease in 
the fine modern schoolroom, with its high walls 
and shining maps and brass-mounted globes. 
Twice before recess she met the child’s grave 
gray eyes fixed upon herself with an expres- 
sion that made her sorry. 

“ The poor thing is so homesick she ’s most 
dead,” thought she, pityingly. “ I wish some of 
the other girls would do something to cheer 
her. Seems to me I ’ve done my part ! ” 

All through the spelling-lesson Molly rea- 
soned with herself in this fashion ; then her 


24 


LITTLE MISS WEEZY’S SISTER. 


better nature conquered, and she resolved to 
act toward Jerusha as her mother had desired. 

So when the cooking-class had been called, 
and the twelve girls were filing up the stair- 
case, she smiled back at Jerusha to show her 
good-will, and on the landing paused to 
whisper, “ Don’t you want to borrow one of 
my cooking aprons to-day, Jerusha? I have 
two.” 

“Yes, I should be pleased to,” answered 
Jerusha, gratefully. And the girls passed on 
together into a sunny room with tinted ceiling, 
and ^ hard-wood floor laid with narrow boards 
of contrasting colors. 

At a table near the door sat a pleasant 
black-eyed lady, in a white cap and apron, to 
whom Molly bowed respectfully, and said, 
“ Good-afternoon, Miss Capen.” 

“ I thought we were going into the kitchen,” 
whispered Jerusha, shrinking backward. 

“Why, we are in the kitchen, Jerusha. This 


MOLLY COOKING. 


25 


is the kitchen; don’t you see the stove and 
the baking-tables?” asked Molly, in surprise. 

These are the dressers I told you about. The 
cans of spices and things are on the upper 
shelves behind the curtains.” 

“My stars! You have got things fixed up 
handsome!” whispered Jerusha, admiringly, 
thinking to herself, “ The kitchen is enough 
sight better ’n grandmarm’s parlor at Shy 
Corner, but I ’ve no call to say it.” 

Meanwhile the rest of the class were putting 
on their caps and aprons, and taking their seats 
at the baking-tables, each one of which would 
accommodate four girls. 

“Now I wish I had a cap for you,” said Molly, 
as she tied the promised apron over Jerusha’s 
peculiar dress. “Is your handkerchief clean? 
Oh, yes, it ’s clean as a new penny. Let me 
pin it about your head like a turban. There, 
that will do nicely.” 

“ I ’m much obleeged, I ’m sure ; but don’t I 


26 LITTLE MISS WEEZY’S SISTER. 

look kind of queer in this rig?” asked Jerusha, 
dubiously, as if she had not previously looked 
as queer as she could. 

“Oh, it’s all right,” returned Molly, smiling. 
“ And now we ’ll hurry to tell your name to 
Miss Capen,” added she, drawing Jerusha 
toward the teacher’s chair. “ She ’ll want it 
before she calls the roll.” 

As Molly had expected, Miss Capen directed 
her to take Jerusha to her own table. 

“ Mary Grigg and Grace Allen sit on one side 
of it, Jerusha, and you and I on the other,” ex- 
plained Molly, giving the bashful new cook a 
chair. “There; isn’t this cosey? The stove in 
front of you is for us, and the other one is for 
Grace and Mary.” 

“ What cunning little concerns ! But ain’t it 
considerable hard to kindle a fire in ’em?” 
asked Jerusha, pleased and interested till she 
caught a smile on the countenances of the girls 
opposite that made her very uncomfortable. 


ft 


MOlLY COOKING. 


27 


Could it be that they were laughing at her- 
self? 

Oh, these are gas stoves ; we light them 
with a match,” said Molly, hiding her face 
from Jerusha. 

“ And here on the shelf under the table are 
the cooking things,” she added, stealthily shak- 
ing her head at the giggling girls. “ See, I 
have a little cake-board, and rolling-pin, and 
mixing-bowl, and knives, and spoons, and I don’t 
know what all. And you have just the same.” 

Little Jerusha pretended to examine the 
articles mentioned, though she was thinking 
all the while, “ What can those girls be snick- 
ering at ! I wonder if it ’s that pocket-handker- 
cher. If it ’s that, I don’t care.” 

Here Miss Capen tapped the table with her 
lead pencil. 

Now, girls, I hope you ’ve cooked a great 
many nice things at home this week,” said she, 
briskly. “ Give me a list of them, please, as I 


28 


LITTLE MISS WEEZY’S SISTER. 


read your names. We’ll begin with Grace 
Allen. Grace, what have you cooked?” 

“ Mashed potatoes once, baked potatoes once, 
suet pudding twice,” answered Grace, rising. 

“Oh, fie! Is that the end? Inez Dutton, 
I hope your list will be longer.” 

Inez had cooked thirteen articles, Blanche 
Fisher only two, Mary Grigg fifteen. And so 
it went on down to Molly Rowe, who notwith- 
standing occasional headaches during the in- 
terval had made in all twenty-six articles of 
food. 

“ Well done, Molly, I ’m proud of you I” cried 
Miss Capen, so cordially that it made Molly 
happy all day. 

Following Molly’s name came Jerusha Run- 
nell’s, the last on the roll. 

“ Can you cook at all, Jerusha? ” asked 
Miss Capen, glancing curiously toward her 
new pupil. 

“ I can cook tolerable well,” said little Je- 


MOLLY COOKING. 


29 


rusha modestly, standing in answering, as she 
had seen the other girls do. 

“Ah, can you? Please mention some of 
the things you Ve made, Jerusha.” 

This was an opportunity that the self-respect- 
ing . little rustic felt should not be neglected. 
Repeatedly that day she had been chagrined 
at finding herself unable to perform tasks easy 
to her comrades. But if she could not like 
them make shapely figures in ciphering, or 
correct maps upon the blackboard, she at least 
could cook many things that they had not 
attempted; and it was only fair that they 
should know it. 

“Oh, I Ve made Indian bannocks, and spider- 
cakes, and nutcakes,” she began, twisting her 
thumbs and swaying backward and forward; 
“ and egg pies, and hog’s-head cheese, and 
bean porridge, and — arid — other things ; ” she 
ended in confusion, sitting down dismayed at 
the suppressed tittering in the class. 


30 


LITTLE MISS WEEZY’S SISTER. 


“ Oh, Molly, what have I said now? Do tell 
me what it is that tickles ’em so,” whispered 
she, sadly convinced that it must be some- 
thing more than the “ pocket-handkercher.” 

“ Oh, ’t is nothing, — nothing to feel bad 
about, I mean,” said Molly, laughing because 
she must. “ It ’s only the funny things you 
cook at your house, Jerusha. We ’d never 
heard of half of ’em.” 

“Jerusha must have been well taught,” Miss 
Capen made haste to say. “ And now, girls, 
we must get to work. Molly Rowe, yours 
was the longest list to-day. You shall be 
housekeeper number one. What must you do 
first?” 

“ Polish the stove, light the fire, and clean 
the oilcloth,” answered Molly, bringing the 
blacking-brush ; while housekeepers numbers 
two and three set about washing the dishes 
and sweeping and dusting the kitchen. 

The remaining girls scrubbed their hands. 


MOLLY COOKING. 


31 


rolled up their sleeves, and proceeded to make 
griddle-cakes. Miss Capen contrived to keep 
them all employed. Inez Dutton sifted the 
flour; Mary Grigg measured the baking pow- 
der; Jenny Vinton added the milk; and after 
the batter had been thoroughly beaten, Grace 
Allen lighted the little gas-stoves, and heated 
the French frying-pans. Next, Jerusha Runnell 
buttered one of these pans, and Inez Dutton 
dropped the batter into it in spoonfuls, which 
instead of falling in three separate places as 
desired, perversely scattered over a dozen. 

“ What a host of ’em ! ” whispered Molly, 
passing the table as the cakes were beginning 
to bake. “ They look like little islands in the 
grease.” 

“ That ’s what they are ; they ’re the Isles 
of Greece,” retorted Inez gayly ; which sent 
Molly back to her cooking-range smilingly 
confirmed in the opinion that Inez was “just 
too bright for anything.” 


32 


LITTLE MISS WEEZY’S SISTER. 


But presently these small “Isles of Greece” 
spread, and united into one large one, which 
gave Inez much annoyance. In vain she 
slipped her knife under its brown edges as 
she had been bidden; in vain she pried it up 
carefully with a spatula; she could not turn 
it over without breaking it. The result was 
that she grew hot, and the cake grew hotter, 
till it finally burned in the middle and had 
to be thrown away. 

This failure irritated Inez very much; and 
the fact that Jerusha immediately afterwards 
baked three cakes nicely on the same frying- 
pan irritated her yet more. She said to her- 
self that she did not choose to be outdone by 
a “ little fright from Shy Corner ; ” and not- 
withstanding she was presently allowed to but- 
ter and sugar the cakes as fast as the girls 
prepared them, Inez could not recover her 
spirits. 

In baking the biscuits made by the class 


MOLLY COOKING. 


33 


later, Molly Rowe succeeded beyond her wild- 
est hopes. She scorched her finger against 
the coal range in the process; but she would 
have preferred to scorch her whole hand rather 
than the biscuits, for she had set her heart on 
astonishing her mamma by becoming a famous 
cook. 

After the fires had been extinguished, the 
dishes washed, and the tables scoured, then 
came the fun of the lesson, — a tiny lunch of 
hot biscuits and griddle-cakes. 

“ I think it ’s almost as good as a picnic, 
Jerusha; don’t you?” whispered Molly, grati- 
fied to see the little girl’s happier look. 

“ Yes, I do ; pretty nigh,” answered the 
child, heartily; “and I think your biscuits eat 
well.” 

“Thank you,” said Molly, with an amused 
smile, that vanished before the frown on Inez’ 
face. It always disquieted Molly to see her 
friend out of humor. 


3 


CHAPTER III. 


THE WHITE DRESS. 

“Who says I’m mad with you, Inez Dut- 
ton? It’s a fib, whoever says it! ” cried Molly, 
a few mornings later, standing her geography 
endwise upon her desk to prop her aching 
head upon it. “ I ’m not mad with you now, 
but I shall be mad with you if you don’t stop 
talking so about my going with Jerusha Run- 
nell. And you need n’t think I go with her 
all for fun, either.” 

At this point," finding her troublesome temper 
fast running away with her, Molly suddenly 
paused, and held her breath. 

“ Anybody ’d suppose you ’d be ashamed to 
be seen in the street with her,” said Inez, 
spitefully. 


THE WHITE DRESS. 


35 


Being the prettiest girl in school, and one 
of the brightest, and a born leader besides, 
she had always queened it over her compan- 
ions, — Molly Rowe, her dearest friend, in- 
cluded. She wanted Molly all to herself, and 
had no intention of sharing her with that little 
“ grandmother cut down.” 

“ I do hate to meet people,” admitted Molly 
candidly; “but as long as Jerusha and I go 
home the same way, and she is n’t acquainted 
with many girls, mamma says ’t would be down- 
right unkind for me to steal away from the little 
thing.” 

“ Oh, before I ’d be so goody goody, Molly 
Rowe ! ” 

“ Do you call it goody goody to mind your 
mother, Inez Dutton?” blazed Molly. “ I’m not 
pretending to be extra good, and you know it.” 

“ No, no, Molly ; I did n’t say you were pre- 
tending anything,” returned Inez, so well satis- 
fied with the stab she had given, that she was 


36 LITTLE MISS WEEZY’S SISTER. 

willing to make peace. “ And I ’m sure it ’s 
lovely of you to take such care of that ugly little 
bundle of purple calico which nobody claims. 
I ’m sure she does n’t belong to our set.” 

“Jerusha is nicer than you’d suppose, 
though,” insisted Molly, her anger cooling. 

‘‘Yes, and so is cabbage,” laughed Inez; “but 
I shouldn’t think you’d want either of them 
every day in the week. I don’t see you hardly 
at all, lately, Molly,” she went on rather peev- 
ishly, resting her head on the atlas beside 
Molly’s. “What does Jerusha have to say?” 

“ I believe I do the most of the talking. Oh, 
I ’ve told her of the Reading-room, and how we 
are to furnish it for the boys before Christmas. 
But I have n’t lisped any of our secrets, Inez,” 
added Molly, adroitly, “ and I would n’t have 
done it, not if Jerusha had pinched me black 
and blue.” 

“ Oh, no, I know you would n’t breathe our 
secrets to anybody. I know you’d never do 


THE WHITE DRESS. 


37 


that,” responded Inez, looking as complacent 
as if these trifling confidences between herself 
and Molly involved the fate of nations ; “ but I 
hate to have you chat with Jerusha, anyway, 
she’s so common.” 

“ I rather think you and I would want girls 
to be kind to us, Inez Dutton, if our fathers 
had lost their legs in the army, and suffered 
afterwards years and years till they died ! ” cried 
Molly, again aroused. 

Inez sat bolt upright, with an expression of 
horror. “ Oh, misery, Molly Rowe ! was that 
looking thing’s father a soldier in the army?” 
groaned she, too engrossed to criticise Molly’s 
absurd remark. “ If her father was a soldier, 
she ’ll march Anniversary Day with the 
Daughters of the Veterans. She will ! she ’ll 
march with us as true as preaching ! She ’ll 
spoil our part of the procession.” 

Jerusha’s champion dropped the atlas, and 
sat bolt upright in her turn. 


38 


LITTLE MISS WEEZY’S SISTER. 


Oh, Inez Dutton, I never thought of that,” 
cried she in an agonized tone, — “ I never once 
thought of it ! ” 

The two girls had been looking forward with 
keen delight to this day, when the city of 
Gallatin would celebrate its one hundredth 
birthday. There were to be flags, and flowers, 
and speeches, and bands of music, and a grand 
parade; and — best of all to Molly and Inez 
— they, as soldiers’ daughters, could take a 
prominent part in this parade. They were 
proud of the anticipated honor, and they and 
the other soldiers’ daughters in school had 
agreed to dress in white, that they might 
adorn the procession. And now to think of 
the Daughters of the Veterans being made a 
laughing-stock by this eccentric little maiden 
from Shy Corner ! It was beyond endurance. 

“ Maybe we could put Jerusha in the middle, 
out of sight,” suggested Molly presently, striving 
to look on the bright side. 


THE WHITE DRESS. 


39 


“ We could n’t put her where she would n’t be 
noticed, Molly Rowe ; you know we could n’t,” 
returned Inez with sad decision. “ That stringy 
purple skirt of hers flops about like a pillow- 
case on a clothes-line ; and then that ridiculous 
collar ! ” 

“ Seems to me she must have another dress 
for Sunday, Inez. Who ever heard of a girl 
with only one dress?” 

“ If she had as many gowns as Queen Eliza- 
beth used to have, they ’d all be sure to be 
made in that old-fashioned way,” said Inez de- 
jectedly. “ I should n’t care quite so much 
how our procession looked if Cousin Matilda 
was n’t coming from Boston. She ’s awfully 
stylish ; and won’t she think Gallatin is back- 
woodsy when she sees Jerusha? Won’t she, 
though? Oh, it makes me so mad!” 

“Jerusha doesn’t bob her hair up any more; 
that’s one good thing,” observed Molly, twist- 
ing Inez’ prettiest curl. “ I begged her not to.” 


40 


LITTLE MISS WEEZY’S SISTER. 


I do wonder if she has a white dress,” con- 
tinued Inez reflectively. “ I ’d give her my old 
cross-barred muslin if mamma ’d let me ; I hate 
the old thing.” 

“Wouldn’t it be a mile too big for her, 
Inez?” 

“ As to that, her own is two miles too big,” 
said Inez, laughing. “ My dress could n’t fit 
her so shockingly as that one does, not if it 
should try; and how much better my dress 
would look in the procession ! ” 

“ Yes, any amount better.” 

“ I ’ll tease mamma to let Jerusha have it, 
wouldn’t you, Molly? It hunches my shoul- 
ders all up,” said Inez, hastening away at the 
tap of the bell. 

As it proved, Mrs. Dutton was perfectly will- 
ing that Inez should do what she pleased with 
the cross-barred muslin. Next came the ques- 
tion of presenting it to Jerusha. 

“ I think you ’r^ the one to speak to her, you 


THE WHITE DRESS. 


41 


know her sp much better than I,” urged Inez 
the following morning. 

Molly demurred. 

“ I don’t like to ; you see it is n’t as if she 
and her grandma were up-and-down poor 
people,” said she, treating Inez to a sugar 
gooseberry. “ Last night when I went in with 
Jerusha for a drink of water their supper was 
ready, and I saw pie and preserves on the 
table. They have a pension; Jerusha told me 
so.” 

“ Wish they ’d spend it for clothes,” com- 
mented Inez, as distinctly as the gooseberry 
in her mouth would permit. 

And Mrs. Runnell was packing up a big 
bundle, Inez, for a family at Shy Corner who 
have been burned out lately.” 

“ Well, if she sends off her ‘ granddarter’s’ old 
gowns, Jerusha ’ll need that white one of mine 
more’n ever. You give it to her, Molly. Come, 
that ’s a dear.” 


42 


LITTLE MISS WEEZY’S SISTER. 


“ Oh, Inez, I can’t ; I should n’t know what 
to say.” 

“ Neither should I.” 

“ I ’m so afraid it would hurt her feelings, 
Inez.” 

“ Yes, Molly, there it is ! And if she wears 
her own gown she ’ll hurt our feelings,” re- 
turned Inez, jocosely. “What will become of 
our procession if somebody does n’t ' dress 
Jerusha? ” 

After repeated discussions during the day^ 
the two girls at close of school decided the 
affair by lot, Inez holding the straws — two 
broom-straws of unequal length — and Molly 
drawing. The lot fell on Molly. 

“ Oh, dear me ! ” groaned Molly, with a wry 
face ; “where is the little country girl?” 

“ Ahead there. If you run you can catch 
her. Oh, you are the best girl, Molly,” cried 
Inez, as Molly darted away, shouting, “Jerusha, 
Jerusha, wait for me ! ” 


THE WHITE DRESS. 


43 


The little neglected stranger paused, de- 
lighted, till Molly joined her. 

“ Jerusha is a very, very long name to call,” 
panted her pursuer, beginning far from her 
errand. “Supposing I should call you Jessie? 
Don’t you think Jessie is a sweet name?” 

“Yes, real sweet; only it doesn’t belong 
to me, you know,” said the honest, straight- 
forward little lassie, as the girls walked on to- 
gether. “I don’t want any name that doesn’t 
belong to me.” 

“Oh, oh! what a little old woman! If she 
feels this way about just a name, what will 
she say about the dress?” soliloquized Molly, 
discouraged at the outset. But true to her 
agreement with Inez, she told Jerusha of the 
coming festival, and that all the soldiers’ daugh- 
ters had been requested to march in the pro- 
cession dressed in white. 

Jerusha seemed deeply interested. 

“ That ’ll be proper nice,” she said, as she 


44 


LITTLE MISS WEEZY’S SISTER. 


re-tied her sunburnt hat, that reminded Mally 
of a rusty wash-dish turned upside down. 

“And Inez Dutton and I thought,” went 
on Molly, nervously swinging her school-bag, 
— “ we thought, as you could n’t have heard 
of the parade before you came, you know, 
that maybe you might n’t have a white dress 
to wear.” 

Jerusha was looking up at her in a won- 
dering way that made it hard for Molly to 
proceed. 

“And Inez said if you did happen not to 
have a white dress, you could — you could 
have — I mean she could — could give you 
one of hers as well as not,” stammered Molly, 
growing redder and redder. 

“ Why, I ’ve got a white dress of my own, 
Molly ! What made you and Inez think I 
hadn’t?” asked Jerusha, bluntly. 

“ Inez’ dress would look ever so nice on 
you,” said Molly, evading the question, and 


THE WHITE DRESS. 


45 


using all the tact at her command. “ Inez 
always has a great many beautiful clothes, 
and she does n’t need that dress.” 

“ Then she ’d better give it to somebody 
that does,” replied Jerusha, not angrily, but 
as if stating a fact. “ Does n’t she have any 
folks in her neighborhood that are put to it 
to get along?” 

Oh Jerusha, you don’t understand. Inez 
would n’t give that dress to a beggar-girl. It ’s 
too pretty,” cried Molly, in a last effort to 
maintain the credit of the procession. “ She 
wants you to march in it. We think it would 
be lovely for you.” 

“ But I ’ve got a dress of my own, you see, 
and it ’s middlin’ good. ’T was bran-new two 
years ago come next Independence Day,” per- 
sisted Jerusha, with quiet decision. “You can 
tell Inez Dutton I ’m obleeged to her, but I 
know grandmarm would n’t be willing for me 
to wear other folks’ clothes.” 


46 LITTLE MISS WEEZY’S SISTER. 

Molly walked on in silence, as embarrassed 
as if she had presumed to offer peanuts to 
Queen Victoria. When she spoke again, it 
was about Grandpa Rowe. She told Jerusha 
that he was coming to Gallatin to make a 
speech on Centennial Day. 


CHAPTER IV. 


A GALA DAY. 

On Anniversary Day the sun rose bright 
and joyous, which is more than could be said 
of our Molly. She came down to breakfast 
so pale and languid that Grandpa Rowe, just 
arrived by the early train, regarded her anx- 
iously, and asked what had become of her red 
cheeks. 

Molly has n’t seemed like herself since the 
fair,” observed Mrs. Rowe, as she poured the 
coffee. 

“ This ’ll never do, Mary ; we can’t have 
Molly ill,” said grandpa, tucking his napkin 
under his chin. “ Let me take her home with 
me, won’t you?’^ 

“Oh, mamma, may I go to Drummond?” 
cried Molly eagerly. 


48 


LITTLE MISS WEEZY’S SISTER. 


“ I suspect the child needs country air and her 
grandma’s nursing,” continued Grandpa Rowe. 

“ Wish I needed it too,” murmured hardy 
Kirke. “ Don’t you think I need it, grandpa?” 

“Me too, grandpa?” echoed plump little 
Weezy. 

“ Hush, hush ! my dears,” said their mother, 
smiling. “What could grandma do with you 
all? And what could papa and I do without 
you?” 

“ I ’d fill Mrs. Filura’s wood-box, and hunt 
hens’ nests for Mr. John,” pleaded Kirke. 

“ No, no, my little son. While you are so 
very, very well you must n’t leave school,” said 
Mrs. Rowe, still smiling. “ But with Molly it 
is different; she is ill, and needs a change.” 

“ Hoh, mamma, I think Molly looks well, — 
just as well as she can look!” muttered Kirke 
churlishly, vexed for the moment because he 
himself was not ailing enough to be sent away 
for his health. 


A GALA DAY. 


49 


“ Of course you ’ll want to hear your grand-' 
pa speak at Lincoln Park, Molly,” said her 
mamma, choosing not to notice Kirke’s un- 
gracious words ; “ but you need n’t go to the 
Common to join the procession.” 

“ Oh, mamma, don’t say it ! I would n’t not 
march for anything,” cried Molly, as they 
rose from the table. • 

“ I ’m afraid this hot sun will make your 
head ache,” replied her mother, passing her 
arm across Molly’s shoulder, and walking with 
her out upon the porch. 

“Oh no, mamma; it won’t ache. Besides, 

I don’t care if it does,” cried Molly, her cheeks 
now so flushed that if Grandpa Rowe could 
have seen them then he might have thought 
as Kirke did, that she “looked just as well 
as she could look.” 

But Grandpa Rowe was pacing the gravel- 
walk, with his hands behind him and his eyes 
upon the ground, thinking of the address he 


4 


50 


LITTLE MISS WEEZY’S SISTER. 


was presently to deliver, and not at all of 
Molly. . 

“ Remember it is a warm* day for the last 
of September, Molly; and the procession will 
be tiresome.” 

“Oh, mamma, Inez will be in it, — I prom- 
ised to march with her; and there’ll be Jeru- 
sha, — I’m on tiptoe to see her white dress, — 
and there ’ll be all the other girls. Oh, you 
don’t know how I should hate to be left out.” 

Mrs. Rowe thought she did know very well ; 
and feeling that it might harm Molly less to 
march than to stay at home to grieve, she 
said, as she went into the house, — 

“ Well, dear, if your head does n’t ache I ’m 
willing that you should march. You need do 
nothing at home this morning, excepting to 
feed your bird and see that Weezy goes away 
tidy.” 

“Don’t I look fit enough, Molly?” asked 
Weezy, from the porch steps, where she and 


A GALA DAY. 


51 


her little friend Kisty Nye sat playing which 
shall get married first?” My dress is spandy 
clean.” 

“ Don’t stain it,” said Molly, leaning against 
the rail to watch the children. 

Each held a stalk of grass upside down in 
one hand, squeezing it solemnly between the 
thumb and forefinger of the other. 

I ’ve squoze the biggest drop, Kisty. I 
’most know I shall get married first,” cried 
Weezy joyfully, watching the swelling sphere 
at the end of her stalk, as a cat might watch 
a squirrel on a stump. 

‘‘ My drop is bigger ’n ’t was. See, is n’t it a 
whopper?” returned Kisty, displaying her own 
stalk crowned by a greenish bead. 

“Yes, Kisty; so it is. Now let’s touch ’em 
together,” cried Weezy, fairly trembling with 
eagerness. “ One, two — ” 

At this critical moment heedless Molly, ab- 
sorbed in her "own thoughts, chanced to jostle 


52 


LITTLE MISS WEEZY’S SISTER. 


her little sister’s arm, and the two drops went 
rolling into one upon Kisty’s stalk. 

Weezy sprang up highly offended. 

“ You hush making me not get married first, 
Molly Rowe ! ” cried she, stamping her foot. 
“ It is n’t fair. I ’ll tell mamma.” 

“ Oh, I did n’t mean to touch you, Weezy. 
Do forgive me,” said Molly, arousing from her 
reverie. Ought she, or ought she not, to tell 
her mamma that her head ached a little? 
Ought she to march when her mamma did 
not quite approve? 

“ You made me not get married first, when I ’d 
squoze the biggest drop, too ! ” wailed Weezy, 
only half pacified. 

Can’t you try again? ” 

No, I ’m tired of getting married first. It 
hurts my finger-nails. Tell us something else 
to play, Molly.” 

Oh, play tableaux.” 

'‘What is tableaux, Molly?” asked Kisty, 


A GALA DAY. 


53 


who was a little girl that talked little and 
thought a great deal. 

“Tableaux? Why, Kisty, don’t you remem- 
ber we had them at our fair?” said Molly? 
carrying off the bird-cage. “ They are pictures 
with people in them. A tableau is a picture 
that’s alive.” 

“ Hoh, Kisty, Molly means a photograb,” 
said Weezy with disdain. “ I ’ve been those 
lots of times, where the man sticks your head 
into a pie-fork, you know, and tells you to 
look pleasant.” 

“ Oh, yes, and peeks at you from behind 
a clothes-horse, to see if you mind,” said 
Kisty. “Yes, I’ve been those too; but I 
don’t want to play ’em. Is n’t it ’most time 
to start? ” 

“Have you an engagement, my children?” 
asked Grandpa Rowe, pausing at the end of 
the walk. 

“ Oh, no, grandpa,” replied Weezy, promptly. 


54 LITTLE MISS WEEZY’S SISTER. 

“ Kisty and me have got to go to the Common 
at ten o’clock, that ’s all” 

“ Ah, yes, I recall it now,” said Grandpa 
Rowe, moving on with an amused smile. 
“ Kirke must be proud to escort two nice lit- 
tle girls like yourselves.” 

What is ‘ scort’?” whispered puzzled Kisty. 

I don’t know,” returned Weezy, proud of a 
grandfather so learned. My grandpa knows 
heaps of words like that. He ’s a preacher, and 
he preaches.” 

Crushed at first, Kisty rallied enough to say, 
“ Well, my grandpa knows lots of hard words 
too, Weezy Rowe. My grandpa is a lawyer, 
and he laws.” 

Anyway, my Grandpa Rowe wears a white 
necktie every single day, when it is n’t a party 
either, Kisty Nye,” retorted Weezy, watching 
Kirke advancing toward the gate on his new 
bicycle. 

I don’t care if your Grandpa Rowe does 


A GALA DAY. 


55 


wear a white necktie. He does n’t carry a bag, 
does he? My Grandpa Morrill carries a bag, — 
a great long green bag, with papers in.” 

“ Hoh, that’s nothing! My grandpa keeps 
his sermons in a barrel, Kisty Nye, — a big, 
round, splintery barrel, with hoops on 1 ” 

“ Anyway, Weezy Rowe, I don’t believe your 
grandfather goes to court I ” cried Kisty, with a 
quivering lip. “ My grandpa — ” 

“ Quick, midgets, get on your hats. They ’re 
forming the procession,” shouted Kirke, leaping 
from his wheel at this opportune moment. 

“ Come and let me brush your hair before 
you go, Weezy,” cried Molly, hurrying back 
with the cage. “ Kisty, I must get the grass- 
stains off your fingers.” 

Weezy hopped up, and Kisty hopped down ; 
for a short time all was bustle and confusion, 
but when Molly at last had made the little girls 
clean and tidy, they frisked away behind Kirke, 
hand in hand, their petty quarrel forgotten^ 


CHAPTER V. 


DRUMS AND FIFES. 

The procession was to start from the Com- 
mon, and thence proceed to Lincoln Park, 
where a broad platform had been built for 
the speakers. 

When MoUy, breathless, arrived at the Com- 
mon, the children of the public schools were 
being arranged in lines, two by two, each 
school with a banner of its • own. But Molly 
was not to march with the scholars to-day, — 
oh no, not she ! She was to march in ad- 
vance, with the Daughters of the Veterans, 
and she and Inez Dutton were to carry the 
flag. She felt this to be a great honor, and 
in passing forward to her place tried not to 
look too proud. Inez, far in front, kept turning 
around and wildly beckoning. 


DRUMS AND FIFES. 


57 


** Oh, I was so scared for fear you would n’t 
be here in season ! ” she cried, the instant 
Molly reached her. 

“ I could n’t hurry any faster,” said Molly, 
“my head aches so.” 

“Does it ache? Oh, what a pity! But 
I ’ve saved you the place. I was bound Je- 
rusha Runnell should n’t stick herself in 1 ” 

“ Come, Inez, that is n’t fair. Jerusha 
would n’t have stuck herself into my place, 
you know that very well,” cried Molly, bri- 
dling. She would not have chosen this gro- 
tesque little maid from Shy Corner as her 
bosom friend; nevertheless, she wanted justice 
done her. “-Besides,” added Molly, with a 
laughing attempt to conquer her ill temper, 
“Jerusha doesn’t want anything that doesn’t 
belong to her, — not even a name I ” 

“ I should, if my name was Jerusha Run- 
nell,” retorted Inez, viciously, a little piqued 
that the child had refused to accept the dress. 


58 


LITTLE MISS WEEZY’S SISTER. 


“Where is Jerusha? Does she look like a 
fright? ” asked Molly suddenly, knitting her 
brows as the band struck up a march. 

“ Why no ! she looks almost like white 
folks,” admitted Inez, with a sigh of relief, as 
the procession moved forward. “ She has on 
that ‘ middlin’ good ’ white dress she told you 
about. It is n’t half so pretty as my cross- 
barred muslin, but it ’ll do.” 

“Yes, indeed it will. Your Cousin Matilda 
will never notice her in the world,” cried 
Molly, catching a glimpse of Jerusha not far 
behind. “The dress is short as pie-crust.” 

In the eyes of good old-fashioned Mrs. Run- 
nell the dress was in fact inches too short; 
and could Inez and Molly have known how 
narrowly it escaped being lengthened that 
morning they certainly would have shud- 
dered. 

^'Doesn't she look astonished, though?” con- 
tinued Molly, nodding at Jerusha. “ I don’t 


DRUMS AND FIFES. 


59 


believe she ever saw a procession at Shy 
Corner.” 

“ Unless it was a funeral procession,” cor- 
rected Inez gayly, skipping into step. 

It was a grand street-parade, as was con- 
ceded even by Inez’ Cousin Matilda from Bos- 
ton. Behind the glittering brass band marched 
files of distinguished citizens, veteran soldiers, 
and military companies; and behind these the 
school-children, led by the Children of the 
Veterans. Among the Daughters appeared 
Weezy Rowe and her friend Kisty Nye; and 
it is needless to add that foremost among the 
“ Sons ” were Kirke Rowe and his once de- 
voted . attendant, Jimmy Maguire. 

“ How gay it is, Inez ! ” cried Molly, holding 
her head erect, forgetful of the pain. 

Everybody is in the procession, and the 
rest are at the windows,” laughed her compan- 
ion, lowering the flag as they entered the Park. 

Inez enjoyed being admired, and she walked 


6o 


LITTLE MISS WEEZY’S SISTER. 


with a proud step, conscious of her new white 
dress, filmy with lace. This dress was the 
idol of her heart ; and when she and Molly 
seated themselves among the other Daugh- 
ters of the Veterans on the benches erected 
opposite the speaker’s stand, Inez was careful 
not to crush the skirt. 

“ It ’s nice and cool here under the elms,” 
exclaimed Molly, thankful to lay down the 
heavy flag-pole. “ I ’d like to rest all day.” 

She soon tired, however, of the exercises 
that followed. While the band played and 
the children sang, it was all very well; but 
the speeches — even Grandpa Rowe’s — grew 
tedious. She was glad when they were over, 
and the procession had marched back to the 
Common and disbanded. 

“ Supposing Gallatin is one hundred years 
old to-day, Inez ; I don’t see why they need 
ring all the bells ! ” said she, leaning wearily 
against a tree after the Daughters of the Vet- 


DRUMS AND FIFES. 


6l 


erans had broken ranks and dispersed. My 
head grows worse and worse, and I want my 
dinner.” 

“ Oh, go home with me, Molly, please,” 
urged little Jerusha at her elbow, and I ’ll 
give you some gingerbread. Grandmarm 
makes it terrible nice.” 

“ Oh, thank you ever so much,” said Molly, 
really half-famished. ^‘Yes, I’d like to go.” 

“ If you go, Molly, I ’m going too,” re- 
marked Inez, coolly. Was she to be parted 
from her dearest friend by that little Mother 
Bunch? 

“ Oh dear, I did n’t ask Inez Dutton. I 
wonder if it ’s city manners to go where you 
haven’t been asked?” mused vexed little Je- 
rusha. “That girl’s always picking upon me. 
Howsomever, I suppose I must treat her de- 
cent. Grandmarm says it won’t do not to be 
civil. I saw a tremendous funny little snail 
this morning,” she continued aloud, as she led 


62 


LITTLE MISS WEEZY’S SISTER. 


the girls into a narrow path skirting the back 
of the Common. 

“Oh, where, where?” cried Inez, eagerly 
tripping at her heels. 

“ Over there by the bog. There are lots 
of snails there, — real beauties, with shells all 
s'triped and spotted,” said Jerusha, trudging 
ahead in her calf-skin shoes. “ I like to see 
’em put their horns out. I always think 
of grandmarm’s cow at Shy Corner, when 
she used to try to hook down the orchard 
fence.” 

“ Let ’s go and hunt for the snails,” said 
Inez, her curiosity excited. “ I ’d forgotten 
they had any horns. You know we don’t see 
snails here in the city very often, Jerusha,” 
she added loftily. “ Where you come from, 
though, I suppose they’re as thick as spat- 
ter.” And she curled her lip as if to imply 
that Jerusha must have come from a very 
queer place. 


DRUMS AND FIFES. 


63 


“ Yes, they are thick, and I don’t have to 
look for ’em there in bog-holes, either,” re- 
turned Jerusha with some spirit, wondering 
why snails should be considered not quite re- 
spectable. “ I call it terrible marshy round 
the Common here. In spots it ’s a regular 
podge.” 

“ Something like bean porridge, Jerusha, 
isn’t it?” sneered Inez, turning her head to 
wink at Molly. 

This set Molly to laughing; but she stopped 
as soon as she could. “ This is a horrid wet 
corner, Inez,” said she, resolved to make every- 
thing smooth. “ Don’t you remember how we 
had to go round it last spring in our May 
walk?” 

“No, Molly; did we?” 

“ I ’d hate to come this way with that nice 
dress on, Inez,” observed Jerusha with a back- 
ward glance at the swaying lace; “you might 
get it dirty.” 


64 


LITTLE MISS WEEZY’S SISTER. 


Humph ! Wants to send me home, does 
she?” soliloquized offended Inez. “She can’t 
get rid of me so easily. I never soil my 
dresses, Jerusha,” she responded aloud; “it’s 
very ill-bred to soil one’s clothes.” 

“ That Inez does pester me powerful bad ; 
I won’t speak to her again if I can help 
it,” mused little Jerusha, turning to address 
Molly. 

“ You know, Molly,” said she, looking past 
her tormentor as if Inez had been a bush in 
the path, — “you know if anybody should stum- 
ble into that sticky stuff ’t would be considerable 
disagreeable for ’em.” 

“Who talks of stumbling? I never stumble,” 
retorted Inez, rudely. “ It ’s clumsy girls that 
stumble.” And dancing on tiptoe to show how 
agile she was, Inez sprang by Jerusha toward a 
grassy knoll on their right. 

“Not that way! Oh, that isn’t the way! 
That is n’t where I saw the snails, Inez,” cried 


DRUMS AND FIFES. 


65 


Jerusha, forgetting all resentment in her panic. 
“ Oh, do come back, Inez. Do, do ! ” 

“ Oh, Inez, please come ! ” called Molly. 

*‘Yes, yes, in a minute; as soon as I’ve 
picked that flower,” said Inez, with a graceful, 
sweeping courtesy, lately learned at dancing- 
school. 

The backward step sunk her, alas ! ankle- 
deep in the treacherous bog. 

Help me, girls, oh, quick, I ’m slipping ! ” 
she shrieked. Oh, oh ! the grass is full of 
water ! ” 

Molly and Jerusha ran forward, but it was 
too late. Before they could reach Inez, down 
she went, with all her finery, headlong into the 
mire ; and when she scrambled out, such a 
sight as she was ! Even a slimy frog might 
have pitied her. Her dainty French kid boots 
looked like clumps of clay, her filmy white dress 
like a tangle of sea-weed, and her lovely pink 
hat like a brown toadstool in the rain. 


5 


66 


LITTLE MISS WEEZY’S SISTER. 


Oh, dear, dear ! ” she spluttered, blowing 
the dirty water from her mouth. What shall 
I do? How shall I ever get home?” 

“Oh, Inez, it’s too bad! It’s a horrid, 
wicked shame ! ” began Molly, in the deepest 
sympathy ; but she ended with a laugh. “ Oh, 
Inez, if you only could see how funny you do 
look ! Why, your face is as black as a crow. 
And then your hat! It drips like an umbrella. 
Oh, oh ! ” 

“ I should think you ’d be ashamed to stand 
there and laugh, Molly Rowe,” sobbed Inez 
angrily, wiping her face with her pocket hand- 
kerchief, and making the pocket handkerchief 
very dirty without making her face at all clean. 
“ I should think even Jimmy Maguire would 
behave better ’n that ! ” 

Molly, weak and silly from her headache, 
choked a second giggle, and went to aid for- 
giving little Jerusha in brushing aw^ay the mire. 
This proved a hopeless task. 


DRUMS AND FIFES. 


67 


It is n’t any use, Molly; we can’t clean the 
gown decent,” cried Jerusha at last, in despair. 
“ Let ’s all traipse into my house and get 
grandmarm to help. Grandmarm always knows 
just what to do.” 

On seeing Inez’ sad plight, the first thing 
Mrs. Runnell did, was to throw up both hands 
with an exclamation; the next, was to bring 
warm water and towels. Then, when the luck- 
less girl had been thoroughly cleansed from the 
mud of the swamp, good Mrs. Runnell lent her 
an entire suit of Jerusha’s garments, including 
the purple calico gown. As Inez surveyed her- 
self clad in this much ridiculed dress, she wept 
afresh. 

“ Why, Molly Rowe, I ’d almost as lief die, 
as wear this through the streets to-day ! ” whis- 
pered she while Mrs. Runnell and her grand- 
daughter were out of the room. But I can’t 
say so to them, they ’ve been so good. And 
what if I should meet Cousin Matilda ! ” 


68 


LITTLE MISS WEEZY S SISTER. 


“You sha’ n’t wear that outrageous dress, 
Inez,” exclaimed Molly, pausing in the act of 
eating gingerbread. “ I ’ll tell you what to do. 
You wait here, and I ’ll go to your house and 
bring you whatever you want.” 

“Oh, will you do that, Molly? Oh, you 
angel ! ” cried Inez, crushing her friend and the 
gingerbread in a warm embrace. “ I did n’t 
like to ask you because your head is so bad; 
but, Molly Rowe, if you will bring me a dress, 
I ’ll love you forever and ever ! ” 

Had Inez been forced to walk through the 
city that gala day in little Jerusha’s despised 
gown, I think it would have been no worse 
than she deserved; but Molly was kind, and 
fatigued as she was, went to Mr. Dutton’s 
house for fresh garments. By the time she 
had returned with them her head throbbed 
violently; and on reaching her own home, 
she threw herself upon the sofa, completely 
prostrated. 





wlf 

JS]tT| 






Molly and Uncle Doctor. — Page 69. 







CHAPTER VI. 


UNCLE DOCTOR. 

The walk to and from Mr. Dutton’s in the 
heat, in addition to the other fatigues of Anni- 
versary Day, proved too much for Molly. 
After dreaming all night of brass bands and 
snails and mud-puddles, she awoke next morn- 
ing so weak and feverish that Dr. Wyman was 
sent for. 

He found her tossing restlessly upon the 
nursery lounge, in a tea-gown of pale blue. 

“ So you have a headache, my young lady ! 
Nonsense! what do you want of that?” he 
began sportively, as he counted her pulse. 
“ Little girls like you should n’t meddle with 
headaches ! ” 

“ Molly is n’t much sickish. Uncle Doctor. 
She ’s just a little sickish, that ’s all,” said 


70 


LITTLE MISS WEEZY’S SISTER. 


Weezy, edging herself in between her uncle 
and Molly. 

Dr. Wyman laughed. “ That ’s right, Little 
Miss Weezy, defend your sister. Did you 
fancy I was scolding her for being ill? Indeed 
I was n’t. And I sha’ n’t scold her for having 
worked so hard over that fair last summer, 
either, though I do suppose that fair helped 
along this illness.” 

“ Oh, uncle, I did n’t work any harder 
than some of the other girls did,” said Molly, 
languidly. 

But she was gratified by Dr. Wyman’s re- 
mark. If she must suffer, it was pleasant to 
be told she was suffering from being too good, 
and she listened eagerly for what her uncle 
might say next. He said nothing at all; so after 
a pause she asked him if he really thought 
the Boys’ Reading-room could be ready by 
Christmas. 

“Yes, I think so,” said he, drawing a small 


UNCLE DOCTOR. 


71 


leather case from his pocket. “ When the 
Reading-room is in working order, you little 
Sewing-society girls ought to be happy, for you 
will have done a good thing for the poor boys 
of the neighborhood. Now, will you open your 
mouth, please?” And he took from the case 
a small glass thermometer, which he pressed 
under Molly’s tongue. 

Weezy, as it chanced, had never seen the 
little glass instrument before. 

“What is it. Uncle Doctor? Is it to eat? 
Is it an ice-pickle she cried in wonder. 

“No, no, little Miss Query! It is not an 
icicle. We ’ll call it a heat-tickle, if you like ; 
and we ’ll ask it presently how hot Sister 
Molly is.” 

Molly wanted to answer for herself that she 
already knew that she was a great deal hotter 
than she wished to be. It vexed her to have 
to lie there so mute with that hard, round 
thing hurting her tongue; and when Kirke 


72 


LITTLE MISS WEEZY’S SISTER. 


dashed in and began to make fun of her, it 
vexed her more than ever. 

“Oho, Molly! Smoking, are you? I Ve 
caught you at it ! ” he cried, flinging himself 
down upon the floor beside her lounge, and 
pulling Weezy into his lap. “ You look now 
just as Grandpa Nye does after dinner when 
he drops to sleep with his pipe in his mouth. 
Leave it to Weezy if you don’t ! ” 

“No, indeed-y, Molly; you don’t look any 
such thing,” rejoined Weezy, indignantly. 
“ Grandpa Nye’s face is all whiskery, and has 
wrinkles in.” 

“ See here, Molly, did you know you ’d left 
your mouth open? ” pursued teasing Kirke. “If 
you keep it open that way at Drummond, John 
Hodges ’ll take it for the post-oflice letter-box.” 

“ And I shall take you for a chatter-box, 
Kirke, and pack you off to the Drummond jail 
if you persist in annoying Molly,” said Dr. 
Wyman in a jesting tone, but with a look 


UNCLE DOCTOR. 


73 


that told Kirke he had carried his joking far 
enough. 

Molly shrugged her shoulders impatiently. 
She wished Kirke and Weezy would go out 
of doors. She wished Baby Donald in the 
next room would cease fretting. Above all, 
she wished her mamma would come. How 
is it these mammas know so quickly when 
they are needed? Molly had hardly begun 
to long for her mother, before Mrs. Rowe 
walked in, bearing a covered dish on a little 
silver tray. She approached very quietly in 
her soft gray dress, and the moment she laid 
her cool hand on Molly’s forehead, the little 
daughter felt comforted. 

Here is some nice orange sherbet that 
Aunt Louise sent you, dear,” she said, in a 
soothing, playful tone. ” I ’m sure you ’ll like 
it better than that little glass tube of your 
uncle’s.” 

^‘VVhy so? This little glass tube is not to 


74 


LITTLE MISS WEEZY’S SISTER. 


be despised, let me tell you,” retorted Dr. 
Wyman, pretending to be offended. “ It ’s a 
knowing little instrument.” 

“What does it say about Molly?” asked 
Mrs. Rowe, rather anxiously, when he had 
taken it to the window. 

“ It says,” replied the doctor dryly, holding 
the tube to the light, — “ it says that Molly is 
a little feverish, and that her brother and sis- 
ter must not vex her.” 

“ Does the little glass say that honest, mam- 
ma?” whispered Weezy, eying the thermome- 
ter with awe. 

“ Oh, Weezy, please don’t whisper,” groaned 
Molly, with her hands over her eyes. 

“ If I ’ll stop, may I have a taste of that 
orange ice-cream, — a big bouncing taste?” 

“ I ’m ashamed of you, little daughter,” said 
Mrs. Rowe, pressing her finger gently upon 
the child’s lips. “ Do you want to be hired 
to be kind to your poor sister?” 


UNCLE DOCTOR. 


75 


N-no, ’course not, mamma,” answered 
Weezy, hanging her head. Then suddenly 
raising it, she amused everybody by adding, 
Molly ’s sick, you know, mamma. If Molly 
eats all the orange ice-cream I ’m ’fraid ’t will 
make her worser ! ” ' 

Oh, let her have some sherbet, mamma ; I 
sha’ n’t want it all,” said the young invalid, 
with a forlorn smile. 

“ Will Molly be well enough to go to Drum- 
mond next Saturday, do you think?” asked 
Mrs. Rowe, following the doctor into the hall 
to learn about Molly’s medicines. 

“ I trust so, if nothing new sets in,” replied 
Dr. Wyman. “ And I would n’t mind if she 
should stay away all the fall. The air of 
those Berkshire hills will give her strength.” 

“ I don’t want to go home with grandpa, 
mamma. I thought I did, but I don’t,” cried 
Molly, the moment her uncle was out of hear- 
ing. “ I don’t want to go anywhere without 


76 LITTLE MISS WEEZY’S SISTER. 

you. I ’d rather lie right here on this sofa 
forever and ever.” 

“ That is because you feel so exhausted 
to-day, dear,” said her mamma, gently strok- 
ing Molly’s flushed cheek. It was friendly 
in you to do that errand yesterday for Inez, 
but I am sorry you did not send Jerusha in 
your place. You were not able to go to Mr. 
Dutton’s, and the walk has made you ill.” 

‘‘Jerusha didn’t know the way to the Dut- 
tons’. Besides, mamma,” confessed Molly, hid- 
ing her face with her mother’s hands, “ it 
was n’t all the walk. My head ached in the 
morning. If I ’d told you how it ached you ’d 
have made me stay at home, I ’m sure you 
would. Oh, I wish I had told you ! ” 

“Poor Molly!” 

“Why do you pity me, mamma? Why don’t 
you say this illness is good enough for me? 
I would, if I were you,” said Molly, begin- 
ning to cry. 


UNCLE DOCTOR. 


77 


“Don’t, Molly dear; don’t cry so! It will 
hurt your head,” said her mamma, drawing 
away her hands to smooth back Molly’s bright, 
rumpled hair. “ If you concealed anything 
from mamma I think you are sufficiently pun- 
ished. I do not believe you will do such a 
thing again.” 

“Oh no, mamma; no, no!” 

Mrs. Rowe sat thus a long time, passing 
her hand over her little daughter’s aching 
head, and speaking to her now and then 
in a gentle, caressing tone. As Molly grew 
calmer they began to talk again of the visit 
to Drummond. 

“ Papa has a lovely surprise for you, Molly, 
at grandpa’s,” said her mamma presently, in 
a voice delightfully mysterious. “ He thought 
of keeping it for Christmas, but he has con- 
cluded that you may as well know about it 
now.” 

“ Oh mamma, mamma ! Oh, what can it be ! 


78 


LITTLE MISS WEEZY’S SISTER. 


Oh, please tell me this minute ! ” cried Molly, 
starting up from the lounge. 

“ Remember, Molly, it ’s a great secret, and 
Kirke and Weezy are not to be told at 
present.” 

^‘Yes, yes, mamma.” 

“Well, it’s a little — a little — ” 

“ Oh, mamma, don’t say it ’s a little pug 
dog ! Bruno would shake him to pieces ! ” 
“It’s a little black Welsh pony.” 

“A live pony? Oh mamma, mamma. Mam- 
ma Rowe ! ” cried Molly so loudly that she 
nearly waked the at last sleeping baby. “ Oh, 
mamma, I want to hug papa this minute ! Oh, 
I think he 's the best papa in the world ! ” 

“ I knew you ’d be overjoyed, dear,” said 
Mrs. Rowe, looking nearly as delighted as 
Molly. “ Grandpa Rowe is having the pony 
kept for you in his stable; and when you go 
to Drummond, he will let John Hodges sad- 
dle it for you every day.’* 


UNCLE DOCTOR. 


79 


Oh, oh, oh! And is there 'a saddle too; 
and can I ride whenever I choose, mamma?” 

** Whenever grandma is willing. At grand- 
ma’s, I shall expect you to do as grandma 
wishes,” said Mrs. Rowe with emphasis. “You 
won’t be selfish, Molly, will you, and go riding 
when your grandma needs you ? ” she added 
gently. “As soon as you’re well enough, I’m 
sure you ’ll help grandma all you can. You 
can thread her needles, you know, and run up 
and down stairs to save her steps.” 

“ And if she wants new cap-ribbons I can 
jump upon my pony and canter down to the 
village to buy them,” cried Molly gayly, lean- 
ing upon her elbow. ' “ Oh, mamma, you 
have n’t told me what they call the pony.” 

“ I believe he is waiting for you to christen 
him,” said Mrs. Rowe, smiling. 

“Oh, can I christen him anything I like? 
And if Inez comes in after school may I tell 
her about him, mamma?” 


8o 


LITTLE MISS WEEZY’S SISTER. 


“Yes, dear; but caution her not to speak 
of him to Kirke and Weezy. They would be 
so impatient to see him that they could hardly 
contain themselves.” 

Inez called that afternoon, and was as 
charmed and excited by her friend’s glad tid- 
ings as Molly could have desired. By that 
time Molly had about decided to name the 
pony Shelto; and she asked Inez to tell this 
to Jerusha. 

“ Yes, I will,” said Inez, as she wa^ leaving. 
“ And, honor bright, I mean to try my best to 
treat the little Aunt Grimes as well as you do, 
Molly,” she added, with a comical grimace. 
“Jerusha is a good little thing, and she was 
awfully sweet to me yesterday.” 


CHAPTER VII. 


A PARLOR CAR. 

Concerning the visit to her grandfather’s 
Molly felt all sorts of ways. When her head 
ached, she thought she would not leave her 
mother for anything. When it was easier, she 
said she wanted to see her grandma so that 
she did not know what to do. And the 
worst of it was that nobody would decide 
for her ; she could go or stay, exactly as she 
pleased. 

After Dr. Wyman’s call Wednesday morn- 
ing she lay upon the sofa nearly all day think- 
ing about her pony. Thursday she sat up a 
part of the time, dressing a doll for Weezy 
and playing pigs in clover.” Friday she was 
well enough to wander about the house. That 


82 LITTLE MISS WEEZY’S SISTER. 

afternoon her mamma went down town and 

brought her home a new gossamer cloak and 

a small silk umbrella. Molly had never had 

an umbrella of her own before, and this was 

a beauty, with a silver handle engraved with 

her name. The child’s delight knew no bounds. 
\ 

She opened and closed the umbrella a great 
many times, and finally took a turn in the 
sunny yard with it, arrayed in the new gossa- 
mer. Apparently the umbrella and the cloak 
between them helped her to make up her mind ; 
for on coming back to the sitting-room she 
walked straight to Grandpa Rowe and said: 

“ I ’ve decided, grandpa. I ’m going home 
with you to-morrow. Are you glad?” 

“Glad, my dear? To be sure I am. I’m 
exceedingly glad,” said he, laying down his 
book with one hand, and pushing up his spec- 
tacles with the other. “ Sit here, and let us 
talk about it.” 

Tall as she was. Grandpa Rowe would have 


A PARLOR CAR. 


83 


taken Molly in his lap, only Weezy got there 
first, shouting merrily, — 

“ Oh, you ’re too big enough, Molly Rowe ; 
you ’d hurt grandpa all to pieces ! Grandpa ’s 
got a bone in his knee.” 

“ What a wise girl ! Who told you, Bright- 
eyes, that I had a bone in my knee ? ” asked 
grandpa laughingly, smoothing Weezy ’s short 
curls. 

“ Oh, Jimmy Maguire, he told me. Jimmy 
says ministers always have bones in their knees.” 

Well, I ’ll sit on the arm of grandpa’s 
chair, then. There are n’t any bones in that,” 
said Molly, with a sportive glance at her grand- 
father that meant, “ Is. n’t my sister a little 
goosie? ” 

Oh, take care, Molly, you sit down too 
tight,” cried Weezy, drawing back her hand. 
“You ’most squoze my skeeter-mite. If you 
squeeze my skeeter-mite, it’ll make it awful 


worse. 


84 


LITTLE MISS WEEZY’S SISTER. 


“ What ’ll you do, Louise, when I ’m gone 
way off? ” asked Molly, finally mounted to 
the little lady’s satisfaction. 

“ Oh, I ’ll play with your little tea-set,” re- 
plied Weezy, promptly. 

Molly jumped up, horrified. That tea-set 
was her special pride, — far, far too precious 
for common handling. 

“No, indeed; you mustn’t play with my 
tea-set ! ” cried she. “ You know I only take 
it out when I have company. Promise me 
you won’t touch it, Weezy. Promise me this 
minute ! ” 

Weezy looked roguish, and shut her lips 
so tight that the smallest promise in the world 
could n’t have slipped through. 

“ Oh, little sister, don’t you remember you 
dropped one of my dishes once? I wouldn’t 
have you drop another for anything, — not for 
anything ! ” went on Molly, her violet eyes 
growing darker and darker. “Why, grandpa. 


A PARLOR CAR. 


35 


papa gave me that tea-set when I was a little 
girl, and it ’s as good as ever it was all but 
the handle of one teacup. Weezy knocked 
that off long ago. I was so angry ! She said 
she ’d broken the ‘ cup of a handle.’ ” 

“Well, I told you I sha’ n’t do it again,” 
said Weezy, placidly. 

“ I think I ’d forgive that accident now, 
Molly, if your little sister will promise not to 
meddle with your china a second time,” re- 
marked grandpa pleasantly, giving Weezy a 
hug that sent his spectacles flying. 

“ There, grandpa loved me so much his 
glasses came off,” said the child, picking them 
up in great glee. 

“ I hope Weezy is going to be a good little 
girl,” continued Grandpa Rowe, “for if she is 
a good girl grandma and I want her and Kirke 
to come to see you at the parsonage next 
Thanksgiving.” 

“Oh, grandpa, do you mean it, truly? Oh, 


86 


LITTLE MISS WEEZY’S SISTER. 


I’m SO happy I want to climb a tree!” 
shouted Weezy, clapping her hands and slip- 
ping down to the floor. “ Oh, thanks, grand- 
pa ! thanks, thanks, thanks!” 

‘‘ If you please, my dear,” said Grandpa 
Rowe, with his genial smile, “ I ’d prefer that 
you should say, ‘ Thank you, grandpa ; ’ not 
^Thanks.’” 

“Oh, would you, grandpa?” asked Weezy, 
a little surprised. “Then I suppose, grandpa, 
you ’d like to have me say, Thank-you-givings 
Day, not Thanksgivings Day? Oh, I will, then. 
I ’ll say every single, dingle thing you want 
me to. And I won’t even look at Molly’s 
tea-set. I won’t, certain true ! ” 

“ I did n’t believe you ’d be naughty, little 
sister,” said Molly, trying to kiss her under 
the chin. 

She might as easily have tried to kiss the 
throat of a humming-bird. Weezy was already 
half across the room to greet Kirke with the 


A PARLOR CAR. 8/ 

happy news, of which he had been previously 
informed. 

“ Did you know, Kirke, — oh, did anybody 
tell you?” she cried, whirling on one foot. 
“We’re going to Drummond, — you and me 
are ! We ’re going Thankyougivings Day, — 
Turkey Day, you know!” 

“Oh yes, Weezy; and we shall see Billy 
Woolsey,” cried Kirke, mischievously. “ Won’t 
that be fine?” 

Weezy’s face clouded. “ No, it won’t be fine 
a bit,” said she. “ I don’t like Billy Woolsey. 
I don’t like him at all, at all.” 

“ Oh yes, Weezy, you like him better than 
you think you do,” exclaimed Molly, laughing. 
“ Did n’t he bring you nice red apples ? ” 

The prospect of this visit from Kirke and 
Weezy was a great help to Molly in leaving 
home next morning. It was the very kind of 
a day that she would have chosen, — damp 
enough to allow of the new gossamer and 


88 LITTLE MISS WEEZY’s SISTER. 

umbrella, yet not damp enough to spoil the 
Gobelin blue hat which exactly matched her 
dress. Molly, as she followed Grandpa Rowe 
into the parlor car, felt quite important, and 
secretly hoped that the passengers would sus- 
pect the fact that she was an invalid, banished 
to the country for her health. She tried to 
carry the umbrella carelessly, as if she had 
always had it, and to keep firm hold of her 
pretty bag filled with gifts to enliven her 
journey. 

To begin with, there was “ Sara Grewe,” 
from her papa, and a silver bonbon-box of 
marsh-mallows from her mamma. Then there 
was a Chinese puzzle from Kirke ; oh, yes, and 
a phial of smelling-salts from Inez, in case of 
Molly’s being faint, which she had hardly ever 
been in her life. But the most embarrassing 
gift of all was a short-stemmed bouquet from 
Weezy, that untied and scattered in every di- 
rection the moment Molly had passed through 


A PARLOR CAR. 


85 

the car door. While she was darting hither 
and thither for the flowers, the porter came 
forward. 

“ Our chairs are numbers seventeen and 
nineteen,” said Grandpa Rowe, handing him 
the tickets. 

“ This way, sir, please,” said the porter, 
conducting the travellers to two high-backed 
stuffed chairs near the centre of the car, and 
putting Molly’s umbrella above them in the 
rack. 

“But where are the numbers, grandpa?” 
asked Molly, arranging her parcels. 

“ On the sides of the car, opposite the 
chairs, Molly. Don’t you find the number 
seventeen there at your elbow?” 

“ Oh yes, here it is. What an out-of-the- 
way place, grandpa ! I wonder why they 
don’t put the numbers on the chairs them- 
selves, as they put them on the pews at 
church. And that makes me think, grandpa. 


90 LITTLE MISS WEEZY’S SISTER. 

I hope I shall be well enough to go to church 
to-morrow.” 

I hope so too, my dear.” 

“ I would rather go to church at Drummond 
than anywhere else in the world; the people 
are so nice, and the old church is so queer. 
Do you remember that Sunday, grandpa, dnce 
when Weezy was at church, when she cried 
because you went into that high pulpit to 
preach? She was afraid you could n’t get 
down ! ” 

“Yes indeed, I remember it very well,” re- 
turned Grandpa Rowe, laughing. “ When she 
comes at Thanksgiving she must go into the 
church with John Hodges some day and run 
all about it.” 

“ Does John Hodges still ring the bell, 
grandpa? ” 

“Yes, every Sabbath; and at morning, noon, 
and night on week-days besides,” said Grandpa 
Rowe, putting on his railroad cap. “And the 


A PARLOR CAR. 


91 


breakfast bell is at seven o’clock in the morn- 
ing. What do you think of rising before that 
hour, my little city girl?” 

Oh, I shall ask grandma to wake me,” an- 
swered Molly rather soberly, being in fact not 
particularly fond of early rising. 

Presently her grandfather went to sleep, and 
not caring to read, she sat and observed the 
passengers in the car. The most of these were 
grown people;. but across the aisle she saw a 
pretty baby who reminded her of dear little 
Donald at home. The baby was in the arms 
of a sweet, pale-faced lady, and beside the 
lady sat a handsome boy a little older than 
Molly, whom the lady called Harry. Once 
the baby cried, and Harry walked with it till 
it became quiet; and once when Molly’s box 
of bonbons rolled from her lap he picked it 
up and presented it to her with a low bow. 
In receiving the box Molly blushed very pret- 
tily. She thought that Harry was a remark- 


92 


LITTLE MISS WEEZY’S SISTER. 


ably polite boy, and that she would certainly 
tell Inez Dutton about him. She might pos- 
sibly tell Jerusha Runnell too. 

Gradually Molly’s eyelids drew together, 
and when she opened them some time later, 
between herself and her grandfather stood a 
small table bearing two bowls of smoking 
oyster-stew. Molly blinked, and looked as 
bewildered as if Aladdin’s wonderful lamp 
were shining straight in her eyes. 

“ Why, grandpa, what ’s this ? where did 
it come from?” asked she in so astonished 
a tone that her grandfather could not help 
laughing. 

Did you fancy we ’d had a visit from the 
fairies, Miss Drowsy-orbs?” he said, raising the 
curtain. “ Oh no ; not unless you call our 
respectable porter here a brownie. And now 
will you please wake, my dear, and favor me 
with your company at dinner?” 

“Indeed I will,” said Molly, laughing; think- 


A PARLOR CAR. 


93 


ing to herself, as she drew off her gloves, 
“ How kind and respectful grandpa always is ! 
Why, he treats me exactly as if I were a lady.” 

Yet delightful as it seemed to be seated 
facing her grandfather at table in that grown- 
up fashion, she was not in the least hungry. 
She fancied this might be because the hand- 
some boy across the aisle sipped his soup 
with so disagreeable a noise. She wished he 
would not do that way. She wondered his 
mother did not reprove him; and concluded 
that the boy was not half so nice as he at 

m 

first had appeared. 

To tell the truth, Molly’s head was aching 
severely. After partaking of ice-cream at des- 
sert it ached harder than before ; and she 
scarcely spoke another word till her grand- 
father and herself left the train at Brandon. 
Here they found John Hodges with the carry- 
all waiting to take them to Drummond, four 
miles away. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


SHELTO. 

The parsonage was a great square white 
house, with great square brick chimneys, and 
it stood on a hill about a mile from the vil- 
lage. Molly’s father had been born in that 
house, and her grandfather before him, and 
though called the parsonage, it belonged to 
Grandpa Rowe. 

“ It ’s the pleasantest place on earth to me, 
Molly,” said Grandpa Rowe, as John Hodges 
turned old Dobbin into the driveway leading 
to it, “ and I want all my grandchildren to 
love it too.” 

“Oh, we do; oh, dont we, though, grandpa?” 
cried Molly, refreshed by the sight of the dear 
old homestead. “And look, there’s grandma! 


SHELTO. 


95 


Don’t you see her on the front doorstep be- 
tween the tall poplars? Oh, isn’t she a sweet, 
pretty little grandma?” 

Grandpa Rowe only smiled happily, but you 
may be sure he knew as well as anybody 
that Grandma Rowe was one of the loveliest 
little women this side of Paradise. 

She met her little granddaughter with a 
kiss, took her hat, and was about to seat her 
in the easiest rocking-chair, when Molly sur- 
prised her by frisking off to the orchard to 
see the new pony. He was munching an ap- 
ple, but on spying Molly politely dropped it, 
and trotted toward her. 

“Oh, you beauty!” cried she, extending her 
hand rather timidly to stroke his mane. “ Oh, 
you raving, tearing beauty 1 ” 

The pony whinnied, as if to thank his young 
mistress for this rather doubtful compliment, 
and behaved in a manner so highly decorous 
that she was enchanted with him, and very 


96 


LITTLE MISS WEEZY’S SISTER. 


sorry when John Hodges’ wife came to call 
her to supper. 

It soon became evident that Molly was far 
too excited to eat, and having persuaded her 
to drink a glass of milk, grandma presently 
went upstairs with her to her room, followed 
by Toodles. Toodles was the parsonage cat, 
— a beautiful black puss, with three white 
stockings, two green eyes, and a wise old 
head. 

‘‘ I thought I ’d give you the Snowball 
Room, Molly, so you would be near grandpa 
and me,” said her grandma, opening the door 
of the sunny southeast chamber. 

Oh, I ’m so glad,” said Molly, fondling the 
old-fashioned wall-paper, with its clusters of 
greenish white. “ I like it best of all.” 

' The room Was all in white, like a bride. 
The high-posted white bedstead held up a 
white canopy, which grandma called a tes- 
ter ; ” there were full white curtains around 


SHELTO. 


97 


the bed and at the windows, and even the 
half-moon dressing-table under the mirror was 
draped in white. 

trunk looks ashamed of itself here, 
grandma,” said Molly, laughing; “but I’m 
glad the stage has brought it. I want' to get 
it unpacked and out of the way.” 

John Hodges had already unstrapped it, and 
on lifting the lid, Molly perceived in the tray a 
strange, neatly folded parcel of dark green. 

“ I wonder what this can be, grandma? It 
is n’t anything of mine,” said she, shaking it 
out. 

Then she saw what it was, and nearly went 
wild with delight. 

“Oh, grandma! Will you look? Oh, will 
you? It’s a lovely new riding-habit!” cried 
she, kissing her grandma on each cheek. “I 
must try it on this minute. Oh, was n’t it like 
dear, beautiful mamma to surprise me in this 
way?” 


7 


98 LITTLE MISS WEEZY’S SISTER. 

Very - soon the happy child was prancing 
around the room in the new habit, holding up 
the long skirt with both hands. Suddenly she 
paused to ask, — 

“ Which hat will look best with it, grandma, 
the brown or the black? Wait, please, and 
I ’ll take them both out of the bandbox and 
see what you think.” 

Running again to the trunk, she pulled off 
the cover of the Idox, and beside the other 
hats what should appear but a new riding-hat 
of dark green ! 

This last blissful surprise was more Aan 
Molly’s weakened nerves could bear, and she 
actually cried for joy. Grandma Rowe insisted 
upon her going straight to bed, and the weary 
child soon fell asleep. She slept all night, and 
she slept so hard next morning that grandma 
would n’t wake her ; and the barnyard fowls 
could n’t wake her, though they crowed, and 
cackled, and quacked as noisily as if they had 


SHELTO. 


99 


not been minister s fowls, and the day had not 
been Sunday. 

But when John Hodges rang the first bell 
for church, Molly opened her eyes and sprang 
up in haste, mortified to have kept the break- 
fast waiting. What would John Hodges’ wife 
think of her? She stood in great awe of this 
thrifty, sharp-tongued housekeeper, who seemed 
to regard children as so much “clutter; ” but 
“Little Miss Weezy” had never been in the 
least afraid of her. Weezy called Mr. and 
Mrs. Hodges “Mr. John” and “ Mrs. Filura;” 
and Kirke and Molly had fallen into the same 
habit, Mr. John was tall and awkward, with 
a mouth like the slit in a child’s savings bank, 
and small eyes that did not agree; but he was 
very kind to Molly, and in the days that fol- 
lowed was constantly devising things for her 
entertainment. She was extremely fond of Mr. 
John; the only drawback to her happiness at 
this time being his bustling wife. Molly used 


lOO 


LITTLE MISS WEEZY’S SISTER. 


to speak of her to Myra Woolsey, a farmer’s 
daughter of about her own age who lived at 
the foot of the hill. She told Myra she always 
felt as if Mrs. Filura wanted to Sweep her out 
of the kitchen with a broom. Myra would say 
it was a burning shame for Mrs. Hodges to 
act so ; and Molly would beg Myra not to hint 
the state of affairs to Grandma Rowe, lest 
grandma should be troubled. 

The girls had varied and lively chats to- 
gether, especially after Myra began to mount 
her father’s old bay and go to ride with Molly. 
The tall bay horse looked so very, very large 
in contrast with the little black pony, that 
John Hodges usually called them “ the ele- 
phant” and “the mouse.” Almost every 
pleasant morning “ the mouse,” with Molly on 
his back, might have been seen pacing down 
the parsonage hill to the weather-beaten cot- 
tage behind the cinnamon-rose bushes to join 
“ the elephant ” carrying Myra. Thence the 


SHELTO. 


lOI 


oddly matched paipoften galloped along the vil- 
lage street, past the white church with its box 
of a steeple, past the academy, to the stone 
watering-trough in front of Squire Twaddle’s 
office. There, while their gay young riders 
planned the day’s excursion, the steeds would 
take a friendly drink together. In whatever 
direction the girls rode, they were sure to re- 
turn by way of the post-office, that stood on 
a- back street, and not a stone’s throw from 
the county jail. 

One morning, in calling as usual for the 
mail, Molly and Myra passed on the sidewalk 
a feeble old man, limping along with a cane, 
and now and then pausing to cough. 

“ Poor cripple ! He looks old enough to 
die,” whispered Molly, touching Myra’s skirt, 
hanging over the shoulder of “ the elephant.” 
“Do see how he trembles!” 

“ Why, have n’t you met him before ? ” said 
Myra, in a louder tone, as they left the man 


102 


LITTLE MISS WEEZY’S SISTER. 


behind them. “I’ve met him about the post- 
office no end of times. It’s Jerry Steele, the 
horse-thief.” 

“A horse-thief!” ejaculated Molly, reining 
in her pony at the office. “If he’s a thief, 
why don’t they put him in jail?” 

“ Oh, they have put him in jail. He’s in 
jail now,” returned Myra, taking the mail that 
the postmaster had brought out. 

“Oh, what a story, Myra! Didn’t we just 
see him on the sidewalk? ” cried Molly, riding 
on, laughing. 

“ I mean they lock him in the jail at 
night,” said Myra, galloping after, and laugh- 
ing herself; “but he’s so sick and so shaky 
they let him out daytimes to get the air. Mr. 
Carr — he’s the jailer, you know — told father 
yesterday he should n’t be surprised if Jerry 
did n’t live till the trial, next March.” 

All the way home Molly could talk of noth- 
ing but this miserable, limping, coughing Jerry 


SHELTO. 


103 


Steele. It was not till she had alighted from the 
pony at the parsonage that she thought to look 
at the letters. Two of these were for herself. 
One was a dear, quaint, affectionate little billet 
from Jerusha Runnell, saying that she missed 
Molly from school “ terrible bad,” and she 
hoped she ’d iTurry back as soon as ever she 
got her health.” 

‘‘Dear little Jerusha! I wish she could see 
how plump I Ve grown in the month I Ve been 
here,” commented Molly, folding the sheet. 
“I’m just as well as I can be; and if it wasn’t 
for Mrs. Filura I should be just as happy as 
the days are long.” 

Country life was indeed doing wonders for 
the child. Cantering among the hills on her 
pony, in the bracing autumn weather, she had 
left her headaches behind her, and become as 
round and rosy as the sweet apples set to bake 
for her by Mrs. Filura. 

The second letter was from Molly’s mamma, 


104 


LITTLE MISS WEEZY’S SISTER. 


and Molly hopped up and down for joy as she 
read it. Besides a pleasant message from Inez, 
it contained the delightful news that, owing to 
unexpected reasons, Kirke and Weezy were to 
be sent to Drummond earlier than had been 
intended, and Molly might look for them the 
following week. 


CHAPTER IX. 


TOODLES. 

I WONDER what Weezy will say when 
she sees Toodles and her six kittens ! ” ex- 
claimed Molly the next morning as she fed 
the cat. 

“ I suspect she ’ll open those big brown eyes 
of hers wider than ever,” said Grandma Rowe, 
smiling down upon her knitting. “ Dear child, 
I want her in my arms this minute.” 

“ Just think, grandma, in less than a week 
she and Kirke will be here ; and they ’ll see 
my pony ! ” continued Molly, setting the sau- 
cer of milk on the dining-room hearth. “The 
night they come I mean to bring Toodles 
back to her bed in the sitting-room, wouldn’t 
you, grandma, and have her and the Toodles 


I06 LITTLE MISS WEEZY’S SISTER. 

kins lying together all in a heap? They 'll 
show off better there.” 

• 

“ I would,” said grandma, at once entering 
into Molly’s spirit. “ And we ’ll make a new 
counterpane in honor of the occasion. I have 
a remnant of red cretonne about the right size.” 

“Oh, have you? Red will be exactly 'the 
color for Toodles, — so becoming to her black 
fur ! And pillows too, grandma. Don t you 
think Toodles ought to have pillows?” 

“ To be sure she ought, and pillows she 
shall have. I ’ll stuff them, Molly, and you 
may hem the counterpane.” 

“ Oh, will you make pillows, grandma, and 
sprinkle catnip leaves inside them to please 
Toodles? ” 

“ Certainly, I will,” smiled grandma, think- 
ing that Toodles would not be the only one 
pleased ; “ and if you ’ll bring the bag of 

pieces we ’ll measure off the spread and pillow- 
slips at once.’* 


TOODLES. 


107 


“I’m afraid you don’t want to stop your 
knitting,” said Molly, hesitating. 

“Yes, I do, dear. Little Donald’s stockings 
can wait,” replied grandma, pressing her nee- 
dles into the ball of yarn, while Molly rushed 
away to the storeroom. 

“ I skipped across the wet kitchen on tip- 
toe, grandma,” said she, coming back with 
the bag, and a clouded face. “ I tried not to 
leave any tracks, but Mrs. Filura went after 
me with a mop.” 

“Did she? She’s fussy about some things,” 
said grandma, carelessly, little suspecting how 
Mrs. Filura’s “ fussy ” ways troubled Molly. 
“There, this is the cretonne, Molly. Won’t you^ 
see if it is long enough for the bedstead?” 

The bedstead itself looked long enough for 
a short baby. It was one that John Hodges 
had made for Toodles from the backs of two 
old-fashioned chairs, and having a tall head- 
board and a tall footboard, it was not unlike. 


io8 


LITTLE MISS WEEZY’S SISTER. 


Molly’s in the Snowball Room, excepting in 
being black. 

“ There ’s enough to cover the bed, and so 
much over,” said Molly, returning from the 
sitting-room, creasing the cretonne where it 
should be cut off. 

Here there was a knock at the front door. 

/‘Will you go, please, Molly?” asked Grand- 
ma Rowe, busying herself about the little pil- 
lows. “ Filura has n’t finished her scrubbing. 
I think that must be Squire Twaddle. Your 
grandfather expects him to-day.” 

Molly went to the door reluctantly, cherish- 
ing a secret grudge against this sour, solemn 
Jawyer, who had once asked if she were the 
“ only one in the family that had red hair.” 

“Grandma’s so good I suppose she likes 
Squire Twaddle,” mused she, pulling at the 
latch ; “ but I don’t. , He ’s the most disagree- 
able man in the world.” 

When she opened the door, “ the most dis- 


TOODLES. 


109 


agreeable man in the world ” stood on the 
doorstep under an umbrella, trying to smile. 
Molly did not think he succeeded very well ; 
she thought he looked as if he was wiping 
his mouth with his lips. At sight of Molly 
he gave up trying to smile, and said in an 
injured tone, — 

“ I expected to see your grandfather, little 
girl.” 

** Grandpa is in the study ; won’t you walk 
in?” asked Molly timidly, feeling to blame 
for not being what Squire Twaddle wished. 

The gentleman put down the umbrella, and 
stalked through the hall to the study door, 
where Toodles sat waiting upon the mat. 
Grandpa Rowe, who had been writing at his 
desk, arose to welcome him. 

Glad to see you, my friend,” said he, lay- 
ing down his pen to grasp Squire Twaddle’s 
hand, which Molly was sure must be nearly as 
stiff and hard. “ Have a seat by the fire.” 


no LITTLE MISS WEEZY’S SISTER. 

But, remarking that he never petted him- 
self, the Squire rejected the comfortable rocker, 
and chose the straightest backed chair in the 
room. 

“ If he does n’t pet himself, then I ’m sure 
he never gets petted,” mused Molly, as she 
played with the kittens in their basket beside 
the table. “ Who ’d want to pet him ? ” 

“That’s a fine feline group, — an unusually 
fine one,” the Squire observed presently, when 
Toodles joined the kittens. “What of the 
mother puss, Mr. Rowe? Is she a good 
mouser?” 

“An excellent one. She doesn’t allow a 
rat or a mouse on the premises,” replied Mr. 
Rowe, taking from his desk the paper about 
which he wished to consult the lawyer. 

“ Ah, in that case I should like some time 
to ask the loan of her,” said Squire Twaddle, 
putting on his spectacles. “The mice at my 
ofhce are getting altogether too annoying.” 


TOODLES. 


Ill 


“ Very well ; you are welcome to the cat 
at any time. Only you '11 be obliged to take 
the whole family,” added Grandpa Rowe, 
smiling. “ Molly, here, is to have one of the 
kittens, and the others are promised.” 

Then the two men began to talk about 
business, and Molly, ill pleased, ran back to 
the dining-room, and told her grandma the 
conversation. 

“The idea, grandma, of his asking for our 
darling old Toodles ! Wasn’t he cool?” 
scolded she, taking up the cat’s counterpane, 
and in her wrath setting some pretty long 
stitches. “ I don’t believe Toodles would like 
to stay in his ugly old law-office. I ’d rather send 
her to the jail and let Jerry Steele have her.” 

“ We don’t know that Jerry wants her,” said 
grandma, pleasantly ; “ and we do know that 
Squire Twaddle does. How would you like it, 
Molly, to live in a house running over with 
mice? ” 


1 12 LITTLE MISS WEEZY’S SISTER. 

“ Like poor Bishop Hatto in his tower, grand- 
ma? Ugh! I shouldn’t like it at all,” shud- 
dered Molly, laughing behind her frown ; “ and 
sooner than have Squire Twaddle eaten up 
alive, I’d let him have Toodles, — only I hope 
he won ’t take her before Kirke and Weezy 
come.” 

“ I hope he ’ll be kind to her,” said Grandma 
Rowe, shaking up the little pillow she had 
finished. “Your grandpa and I have made a 
baby of Toodles. When she gets old I ’d like 
to send her to Cairo, where they say the Mus- 
sulmans have a hospital for superannuated 


cats. 


CHAPTER X. . 


KIRKE AND WEEZY. 

Kirke and Weezy travelled alone all the way 
from Gallatin, enjoying the journey immensely, 
and happily unconscious that they had been put 
in care of the conductor. Weezy was so anxious 
to be ladylike and proper, that she kept on her 
bonnet, and sat up as prim as a marigold ; 
and Kirke was so anxious to be gentlemanly 
and gallant, that he waited upon her by inches. 
As a result of this unusual self-restraint they 
reached Brandon in the wildest of spirits. 
There they were met by John Hodges with 
the carryall. 

“ Why did n’t Molly come with you, Mr. 
John? We thought to be sure she’d come.” 
exclaimed Kirke, beginning to feel that he 


8 


1 14 LITTLE MISS WEEZY’S SISTER. 

and Weezy were not being treated with due 
attention. 

“ Oh, Miss Molly ’s back here a piece,” said 
John Hodges, very seriously, but with a smile 
lurking in the small eyes that did not agree. 

And no sooner had old Dobbin taken them 
to a safe distance from the shrieking engine, 
than Molly appeared, cantering toward them 
on her pony. In the jaunty green riding-hat 
and habit Kirke and Weezy at first hardly knew 
her; but when they recognized her, and more- 
over learned that the pony was her own, their 
surprise and delight were beyond description. 
They were so frantic with joy that the wonder 
was how John Hodges got them safely home 
to the parsonage. 

“ You shall ride Shelto yourselves to-morrow, 
Kirke, — you and Weezy. I ’ll lend him to you 
all day if you want him,” said Molly, spring- 
ing from the pony’s back without assistance, as 
grandpa and grandma met them at the door. 



Toodi.ks and JiKi: AD.\miEi:s. — I’airi! 115. 

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KIRKE AND WEEZY. 


II5 

Weezy spied the Toodleses the moment 
she ran into the sitting-room, and as had 
been expected, opened her eyes wider than 
ever. 

“ Oh, grandpa ! Oh, Molly ! Oh, grandma ! ” 
she cried, dancing around the tiny red bed. 
“ What a cunning little kittery ! There ’s one, 
two, three, five, six, — six little black kitties 
with white feet on ! Oh ! oh ! oh ! ” 

“ Toodles, Toodles,” called Kirke, kneeling 
to stroke the cat’s long, silky fur, “you re- 
member me, don’t you, Toodles?” 

Toodles opened one green eye and purred 
“ Yes.” 

“ I thought you did ! You ’re a wise cat,” 
went on Kirke, slyly tickling her whiskers till 
he made her sneeze. 

“Oh, don’t do that, Kirke. Don’t do like 
Jimmy Maguire. You must n’t ’buse Toodles,” 
cried Weezy, encircling with her short arms the 
whole Toodles family. 


6 


LITTLE MISS WEEZY’S SISTER. 


“ What was that you were saying about 
Jimmy Maguire, Weezy? What is it that he 
does?” asked Grandpa Rowe, drawn from his 
study for the second time by the attraction of 
seeing his three grandchildren together at the 
homestead. 

Oh, Jimmy plays hand-organ with his kitty. 
Turns her tail round and round, — this way, 
you know, grandpa,^ and makes the kitty mew 
horrid,” said Weezy disapprovingly, twisting 
her sash to show Jimmy’s method. 

“I’m afraid Jimmy Maguire is a naughty 
boy, isn’t he, Weezy?” asked grandpa, ten- 
derly regarding the child and her big armful. 

“ Sort of naughty, grandpa.” 

“Why, Weezy, I think Jimmy is better than 
he used to be,” cried Kirke, remembering with 
shame the time Jimmy had enticed him to run 
away from home. He had never been so in- 
timate with Jimmy since that, but he still felt a 
warm pity for the neglected lad. 


KIRKE AND WEEZY. 


II7 

“Oh, Jimmy is n’t very naughty,” said Weezy, 
correcting herself. “ And he is n’t very good,” 
she added, after a moment’s reflection. “Jim- 
my’s just comfortable.” 

Grandpa Rowe walked hastily to the win- 
dow, and came back to Weezy with a funny 
twinkle in his eyes. 

“Well, little wife from St. Ives,” said he, 
gayly, “you must put down your seven cats, 
for here comes Filura to call us to supper.” 

“ Oh, I ’m ever and ever so glad,” cried 
Weezy, giving the Toodlekins a parting squeeze 
before skipping off to the dining-room. “ I ’m 
just as hungry as a buzzy bee, I did n’t have 
any dinner ! ” 

“ Why, Louise Rowe,” exclaimed her brother, 
“didn’t Lovisa put us up a jolly luncheon?” 

“ Hoh, cinnanum cookies, and crumpets, and 
Parker’s House rolls, they isn’t dinners,” re- 
torted Weezy, scornfully. “ I have n’t had a 
truly table dinner this whole long day.” 


Il8 LITTLE MISS WEEZY’S SISTER. 

Billy Woolsey wants to see you, Weezy,” 
observed Molly, after grace had been said. 

“Does he? He hasn’t sawn me since a 
great, great while ago, when I was little and 
cunning,” returned Weezy, not wholly sorry 
to renew her acquaintance with teasing little 
Billy. 

“How is mamma, Weezy?” continued Molly, 

“ Oh, she ’s just as thin, Molly. She eats 
killed-and-dried oatmeal to try to thicken her- 
self.” 

“ If kiln-dried oatmeal will thicken anybody 
I wish Jerry Steele could have some of it,” 
said Molly, passing her brother the biscuits 
with a meaning smile. “ You would n’t be- 
lieve, Kirke, that a man could be so thin as 
that old thief is at the jail.” 

“Have you been to see him, Molly?” asked 
Kirke in surprise. 

“Not to the jail. You don’t have to go to 
the jail to see Jerry Steele, or to hear him 


KIRKE AND WEEZY. 


II9 

either, — he coughs fearfully. He ’s so lame 
and ill they don’t lock him into his cell day- 
times; they let him walk out as far as the 
post-office.” 

“That’s a funny way to keep jail, Molly. 
What if the thief should run away?” 

Molly laughed merrily. “ When you Ve 
seen poor stiff old Jerry, you ’ll know bet- 
ter than to say such, a thing,” said she, with 
an arch glance at her little sister’s drooping 
eyelids. “ He can’t walk as fast as our baby 
can creep/’ 

Long after Weezy had been tucked snugly 
into Molly’s white bed, Kirke and Molly sat 
by the cone fire in^ the sitting-room talking 
with grandpa and grandma. There were a 
great many things to say. How the Boys’ 
Reading-room was all painted and papered 
ready for the library, which the committee 
were to select for it; how Inez Dutton had 
called to inquire for Molly, and little Jerusha 


120 


LITTLE MISS WEEZY’S SISTER. 


Runnell had sent Molly a package of sweet- 
flagroot; how Jimmy Maguire wor-e a white 
collar every day ; and how Kirke felt quite 
confident now of receiving his long-promised 
watch the coming Christmas. 

Meanwhile the pendulum of the tall clock 
in the corner had been pacing off the time in 
long, even strides, till the hour-hand had crept 
around to quarter of nine. Neither of the 
children had observed that it was getting so 
late, but when they heard the porch door close 
with a slam, then they knew that John Hodges 
had started for the church to ring the nine- 
o’clock bell. 

Oh, can’t I go with Mr. John, grandma, 
to hold the lantern?” asked Kirke, springing 
to his feet. 

“And can’t I go to take care of Kirke, 
grandma?” jested Molly. 

“ Yes, go by all means, my dears. You ’ll 
sleep the better for a brisk walk,” said their 


KIRKE AND WEEZY. 


I2I 


grandma, binding off the toe of a stocking 
for little Donald. 

Mr. Hodges was glad of the children’s com- 
pany, and having unlocked the church door, 
and admitted them to the vestibule, where 
hung the bell-rope, he showed them just how 
he pulled the rope to make the bell ring. 
He was very kind indeed, not only showing 
them ' how he rung the bell, but teaching 
them to ring it themselves, and letting them 
strike several peals. Kirke desired to pull the 
rope once all by himself, and having been al- 
lowed, was mortified to find he needed Molly’s 
help. John Hodges soothed his wounded van- 
ity, however, by saying, — 

‘‘That’s a heavy tug for a boy of your 
size. You ’ve got considerable muscle for a 
little chap, now, I tell you.” 

“ I ’d like to ring the bell for you every 
day, Mr. John,” returned Kirke, picking up 
the lantern. 


122 


LITTLE' MISS WEEZY^S SISTER. 


‘*You and Miss Molly together could do it 
as neat as a pin, I’ll warrant,” laughed Mr. 
Hodges, his teeth gleaming through the slit 
in his face which answered for a mouth.' 

Then they all went out of the church, and 
the door clanged behind them. 


CHAPTER XL 


OUT OF JAIL. 

“ If there ’s anybody in this world that I 
hate, it ’s Billy Woolsey,” stormed Weezy, 
bursting into the kitchen like a small cy- 
clone. 

‘‘ Softly, softly, my dear child,” cautioned 
Grandpa Rowe, passing through the room to 
speak to John Hodges. ‘^You should n’t hate 
anybody. You shouldn’t hate a boy; you 
should hate his sins.” 

Abashed at this unexpected meeting with 
her grandfather, Weezy fled to Molly, seeding 
raisins in the pantry. 

If there ’s anybody’s sins in this world 
that I hate, Molly Rowe,” she began again 
with flashing eyes, “ it ’s Billy Woolsey’s sins.” 


124 


LITTLE MISS WEEZY’S SISTER. 


“ Why, Weezy, I thought you and Billy were 
having a beautiful time in the orchard,” said 
Molly, going on seeding raisins for grandma’s 
fruit-cake. “What has Billy been doing?” 

“He throws apple-cores at me, — gnawed-yy 
see!” cried Weezy, resentfully pointing to a 
slight stain upon her red dress. “ I ’m going 
to show it to my mamma. I sha’ n ’t play with 
Billy Woolsey, not any more, not ever!” 

Molly gave her a raisin. 

“I hate Billy Woolsey’s sins; I wish my 
papa and mamma ’d come,” said Weezy, pout- 
ing, as she tore the raisin open and fitted it 
to her finger like a thimble. 

“Oh, so do I!” echoed Molly, in a tone of 
regret. “ But you know they ’re having the 
house painted and papered all new. And did 
I tell you, Weezy, of the stained-glass window 
that mamma wrote about?” 

“No,” said Weezy, her brow clearing; “who 
stained it? Can’t Lovisa wash it off?” 


OUT OF JAIL. 


125 


“Oh, it’s a window of colored glass, — like 
a church window, you know, Weezy. It’s 
going to be in the parlor, over the piano.” 

“ A church window in mamma’s parlor 1 Oh, 
won’t that be funny ! I ’m going right out to 
tell Billy Woolsey,” cried Weezy, her little 
tempest quite blown over. “ Please, Molly, 
give me a raisin for Billy?” 

Weezy and her brother had now been 
several days in Drummond, and Kirke, on 
Molly’s pony, had scoured the village pretty 
thoroughly, back streets and all, from the 
parsonage to the stone watering-trough by 
Squire Twaddle’s office. With his grandma’s 
consent he had visited even the jail, bring- 
ing home to Molly a dark picture of the 
wretched horse-thief, stealing on toward 
eighty. 

Kirke talked a great deal every day to 
his sister, and he also talked a great deal 
to his grandma about her, — privately admit- 


126 


LITTLE MISS WEEZY’S SISTER. 


ting that she looked much better than when 
she left Gallatin. 

And Molly does n’t blaze up at the least 
thing, as she used to,” confided he to his 
grandma this morning. “ I don’t see what ’s 
become of her sharp temper, when she has n’t 
lost her hair, and it ’s as red as ever ! ” 

“ Molly has tried hard to learn self-control, 
and grandpa and I think she deserves great 
credit,” said Grandma Rowe, gratified that 
Kirke should have observed the gradual im- 
provement in his sister’s character. 

It was while Kirke and his grandma were 
yet talking, that Squire Twaddle came for Too- 
dles. Kirke always insisted that the wise puss 
divined the Squire’s errand ; but be that as it 
may, she abruptly disappeared. After a vain 
search for her. Grandpa Rowe said to Squire 
Twaddle, “ Pray give yourself no further 
trouble, my friend. My grandson will carry 
the cat to your office as soon as she is found. 


OUT OF JAIL. 


127 


You ’ll go with pleasure, Kirke, will you 
not?” 

Kirke amiably assented. 

“ I dare say you ’ve seen this grandson upon 
some of his former visits. Squire Twaddle,” 
continued Grandpa Rowe, following his guest 
to the .door, at which stood Molly and Weezy. 
“ He is my son Edward’s boy, and this is 
Louise, Edward’s younger daughter. Molly, 
the elder, you ’ve already met.” 

“ Yes ; Molly and the boy look like their 
father,” returned the Squire, carelessly; “but 
this little tot,” — he stopped upon the thresh- 
old and gave a long, cold stare at Weezy, — 
“ this little tot does n’t resemble any of your 
family. I think she must look like the other 
side of the house.” 

Weezy’s eyes flashed; she did not speak 
one word, but she darted away, and, like 
Toodles, disappeared from sight. Long after 
Squire Twaddle had gone, Molly found her in 


128 


LITTLE MISS WEEZY’S SISTER. 


the closet of the Snowball Room, sobbing 
bitterly. 

“Why, Weezy, dear, precious little sister,” 
cried she, gathering her in her arms, “ what is 
it? Are you homesick?” 

Weezy only sobbed the faster. 

“Are you in pain, dearie? Tell sister where 
you feel bad.” 

“I don’t feel bad; it’s because I look bad, 
Molly. Oh, oh ! I’m crying ’cause I look 
so bad,” wailed the child, dashing the tears 
right and left. “ He said, — the Twaddle man 
did, he said, — ‘ that little tot looks like the 
back side of the house.’ And he meant me, 
Molly Rowe; you know he meant me.” 

“No, no, Weezy; not the back side of the 
house ; you did n’t understand him,” exclaimed 
Molly, shaking with laughter. “ He only said 
you looked like the other side of the house. 
He meant mamma’s side', you know.” 

“ Well, that ’s ’most not any different,” moaned 


OUT OF JAIL. 


129 


Weezy, unconsoled. Oh, I don’t want to look 
like any side of a house. Oh, I don’t, I don’t, 
I don’t ! Wish I could go home. I have n’t 
anything but a grandpa and grandma and 
a sister and a brother here. I haven’t any 
papa and mamma at all ! ” 

The absurd little girl by this time had 
worked herself into such a state of despair 
that it was beyond Molly’s power to comfort 
her. It took Grandpa and Grandma Rowe, 
both of them, with a great deal of talking, to 
convince her that Squire Twaddle had simply 
meant that she must look like her mother’s 
family. 

Meanwhile, Kirke, deserted by the other 
members of the household, had wandered out 
to the melon-patch beside the highway. He 
was strolling among the rusty vines, count- 
ing the ripening melons, when he saw Jerry 
Steele, with a hoe upon his shoulder, ambling 
slowly along on Mr. Carr’s gray horse. Kirke 


9 


130 


LITTLE MISS WEEZY’S SISTER. 


knew the horse at once, for he had seen it 
only that morning in the jailer’s yard. 

Going to dig Mr. Carr’s potatoes over 
yonder, Mr. Steele?” cried he, sociably, wish- 
ing to make the most of this rare oppor- 
tunity to chat with a jail-bird. 

Jerry nodded feebly, as if even that effort 
wearied him, and at a snail’s pace disap- 
peared around the bend of the road. Having 
heard so much lately about the thiefs freedom 
of movement, Kirke had felt no surprise on 
seeing him, and he was beginning to count 
the melons anew, when Mr. Carr rode furi- 
ously up the hill. 

*‘Boy, have you seen Jerry Steele?” he 
cried, in great excitement, when he drew near 
Kirke. 

“Yes sir, yes sir, I have,” said Kirke, ha- 
bitually impatient to tell all he knew. “ He 
rode by here a little while ago on your 
horse.” 


OUT OF JAIL. 


131 

‘^He did, did he? Then why the mischief 
didn’t you catch him, or sing out? Suppose 
I’d set a thief on horseback?” growled the 
exasperated jailer, spurring on. 

Molly, at her chamber window, had heard 
every word. 

“Oh, how could Kirke be so stupid? Oh, 
I ’m so ashamed,” thought she, seizing her hat, 
and rushing wildly downstairs. “Jerry Steele 
sha’ n’t get away if I can help it. I ’ll catch 
him for Mr. Carr myself! ” 

The pony, saddled for her accustomed morn- 
ing ride, stood at the hitching-post. With 
frantic haste Molly leaped upon his back, and 
shouting to Kirke to follow, went tearing up 
the hill. Mr. Carr, mounted on the black- 
smith’s swift trotter, was almost out of sight; 
but Molly, without any very clear idea of what 
she meant to do, speeded on. Behind her came 
old Dobbin, ridden by John Hodges, and still 
farther behind, two wagons, and a crowd of 


132 


LITTLE MISS WEEZY’S SISTER. 


men and boys on foot. By this time nearly 
everybody in the village knew that Jerry Steele 
was at large. Molly’s only thought was that 
he must not escape through the fault of her 
brother. 

On rushed the trotter, on bounded the pony, 
on lumbered old Dobbin, for two long miles. 
Then suddenly Mr. Carr drew his bridle-rein, 
and sprang to the ground. He had come upon 
his own gray horse tied by the roadside. 

“Do you see him, Mr. Carr, — do you see 
Jerry Steele?” cried Molly excitedly, reach- 
ing the spot as the jailer leaped the fence. 

“Not yet; but I shall find him in a min- 
ute,” said Mr. Carr, hopefully striding into 
the thin woods skirting the highway. 

He thought that crippled old Jerry, failing in 
strength, had hidden among the fallen leaves, 
and could be taken out of them as easily as 
plums could be picked from a pudding. 

“ Oh, Kirke, Kirke, Jerry Steele is the same 


OUT OF JAIL. 


133 


as caught ! ” cried Molly joyfully, riding up to 
her brother, now springing from the forward 
wagon. 

“ Oh, I ’m so glad ! I never could have 
looked Mr. Carr in the face again if Jerry 
had run off,” cried Kirke, dashing on; while 
Molly, suddenly conscious that it was not quite 
nice to be the only little girl in the rapidly 
increasing crowd, turned Shelto’s head toward 
home, and cantered back to the parsonage. 


CHAPTER XII. 


RINGING THE BELL. 

In the yard Molly met Grandpa Rowe and 
John Hodges with the carryall, and in the front 
hall Mrs. Filura with the scrubbing-brush. 

“Your grandsir has been sent for to a 
funeral, Miss Molly,” said she with unwonted 
smiles. “ He ’ll be gone two days ; and if I 
don’t give his study one good sousing mean- 
whilst, why I miss my guess.” 

After Mr. Hodges’ return from taking Grandpa 
Rowe to the station he was called in to move 
the bookcases ; grandma herself dusted the pa- 
pers and sermons, while Mrs. Filura beat mats 
and scoured paint as if she were dealing with 
mortal foes. As for Molly, she saved her 
grandma’s steps, and in watching for Kirke 
wasted a great many of her own. 


RINGING THE BELL. 


135 


“Where was Jerry Steele, Kirke? Oh, I 
hope ’t was you that found him ! “ shouted 
she, running out to meet her brother the mo- 
ment he appeared. 

“ Found him ! Nobody ’s found the fellow. 
I found his hoe, that’s all,” muttered Kirke, 
weary, depressed, and half famished. “ Mr. 
Carr thinks now, that Jerry must have thrown 
the hoe among the leaves on purpose to 
blind us.” 

“ Oh, Kirke, I 'm so disappointed ! ” 

“ Mr. Carr says Jerry probably had some- 
body waiting for him with a carriage near the 
wood, and while we Ve been scratching about 
the underbrush, the old thief has skipped, 
nobody knows where. Oh, Molly, I ’m ^so 
mortified to think how I let him go by me, I 
could howl ! ” 

“ So could I,” said Molly, feeling that she 
had no comfort to offer. 

“ Grandma is always saying what a beauti- 


136 LITTLE MISS WEEZY’S SISTER. 

ful world this is,” continued Kirke, dragging 
himself up the steps with an air of intense 
disgust. “I don’t see it. Now just you think, 
Molly. Here ’s Jerry Steele run away, and 
here’s the jailer blaming me for it like sixty; 
and — and — here’s Toodles come back with 
a red eye,” he ended rather lamely, as the 
cat rubbed against his tired feet. “ It ’s a 
pesky world, I say; and if you should give 
me a map of it this precious minute I would n’t 
look at it.” 

But a hearty supper and a good night’s 
rest somewhat brightened Kirke’s views of 
life; and when, late in the forenoon, he left 
Toodles and her. kittens at Squire Twaddle’s 
office, he had become moderately cheerful. 

“ If we hurry, Kirke, we can get back to 
the church by the time Mr. John has finished 
ringing the bell,” said Molly, as Kirke climbed 
into the wagon in which she and Weezy had 
been waiting. 


RINGING THE BELL. 


137 


“That’s a bright idea; we’ll take him home 
with us,” responded Kirke, turning the wagon 
with a flourish. 

John Hodges rushed out to them from the 
vestibule in a state of unusual tumult, having 
that moment received an urgent despatch 
from Mr. Carr, requesting him to drive with- 
out delay to Rushville, where there were 
reasons for suspecting Jerry Steele to be con- 
cealed. 

“ Mr. Carr can’t get home himself till about 
nine o’clock this evening, so he wants me to 
do the business for him,” said Mr. Hodges, 
springing into the wagon as he closed his 
hurried recital; “but it’s sending me off in 
short metre. I declare for ’t, I don’t see how 
I can manage to leave.” 

“Oh, you must go, Mr. John. You must 
go ! ” cried Molly, clasping her hands. “ Oh, 
if you only can bring back Jerry Steele ! ” 

“ Yes, yes, of course you must go,” cried 


138 LITTLE MISS WEEZY’S SISTER. 

Kirke with equal impatience; I ’ll fodder the 
cattle, and — ” 

Amos Sprague, he brought me the word, 
and he’s come forrud and offered to do the 
milking and the chores,” broke in John Hodges, 
thinking aloud ; “ but he won’t be pestered 
with ringing the bell; and I can’t blame him, 
living t’ other side of the hill as he does, and 
clean away from the meetin’-house.” 

“We’ll ring the bell, — Kirke and I; oh, 
won’t we Kirke?” cried Molly, nearly falling 
over the wheel in her eagerness. “ Mr. John, 
you know we can ring it. Did n’t you say we 
could, yourself? ” 

“ I guess you little creeturs would find it 
kind o’ pokerish doin’s come night-time,” said 
Mr. Hodges, shaking his head and the whip 
at the same time. “ No, I should n’t feel like 
settin’ you at it, ’specially with your grandsir 
gone. I don’t see but I ’ve got to wait round 
till I can look up somebody.” 


RINGING THE BELL. 


139 


“Oh, no, no, Mr. John! Don’t wait a min- 
ute ! ” urged Molly as they jolted into the 
yard. “ Jerry Steele may be getting away 
from Rushville this minute.” 

Grandma Rowe also entreated John Hodges 
to start at once. In regard to the bell she 
said she knew some arrangement could be 
made before night. So only pausing to say 
good-by to his wife, ill in bed from a sick 
headache caused by yesterday’s labors, Mr. 
Hodges took a couple of turnovers to eat on 
the way, and set forth. 

Wretched Mrs. Filura had a hard afternoon, 
as had Grandma Rowe and Molly. At her 
grandmother’s bidding Molly ran up stairs and 
down with mustard and water, hot vinegar, 
and hop pillows; and when visitors came and 
grandma went down to receive them, she her- 
self waited upon Mrs. Filura. 

With so much to attend to, it was not strange 
that Grandma Rowe forgot about the ringing 


40 


LITTLE MISS WEEZY’S SISTER. 


of the bell till after Amos Sprague had gone 
home for the night. She then was reminded 
by seeing Molly light the lantern. 

‘‘Why, Molly, I never meant to let you 
children ring the bell ; it does n’t seem the 
proper thing,” said she, much disturbed. 

“ Oh grandma, don’t you worry ! We like 
to do it ; we think it ’s larks ! ” cried Kirke, 
swinging around three times and catching her 
in his arms. 

“ I ought to have sent for somebody,” con- 
tinued grandma, her short flaxen curls yet 
quivering from his embrace; “but it’s- too 
late now. Be very careful of the light, dears, 
won’t you? Don’t set the church on fire.” 

“ Oh yes, yes, grandma, we ’ll be very, very 
careful,” said Molly, taking the key from its 
nail in the side entry, and following Kirke 
out through the porch door. 

The children ran gayly down the hill, and at 
its foot nearly stumbled over a moving black 


RINGING THE BELL. 


I4I 

object, that proved to be Toodles with one of 
her kittens in her mouth. 

“ Why, Toodles ! How did you find your 
way here? Three cheers for old Toodles!” 
cried Kirke, swinging his lantern. 

But Molly hurried him on to the church. 
There his spirits suddenly flagged. Molly, 
too, felt very quiet as she unlocked that great 
outer door and stole softly into the vestibule. 
Within it was strangely still, with no more air 
stirring than might have been wafted by the 
wing of a moth. Unconsciously the children 
began to speak in whispers. 

“ The very minute the clock sets out to 
strike nine we '11 pull the rope,” said Molly, 
shivering. “We must both pull at once, you 
know.” 

“ Yes, I know, pull like everything,” said 
Kirke, cramming his hands into his pockets 
to conceal their trembling. “ But 't is n’t time 
to ring the bell. 'T is n’t nine o’clock yet. 


142 


LITTLE MISS WEEZY’S SISTER. 


I don’t believe it can be more than five min- 
utes of.” 

‘‘Hark, Kirke, did you hear anything?” 
cried Molly, grasping her brother’s elbow. 

“Yes, Molly; didn’t you?” 

“ Hush ! ” 

“ It sounded back in the big room,” whis- 
pered Kirke, listening with all his ears. 

“ Hark, I heard it again,” exclaimed Molly, 
as white as the plastered wall behind her. “ It 
is, it certainly is — inside.” 

“ Look there ! ” whispered Kirke, pointing 
tremulously towards the great door leading 
from the vestibule into the main body of the 
building. “ I thought I saw it move ! ” 

This door was seldom fastened, but as the 
children were aware, John Hodges habitually 
left the key in the lock. It was to-night in 
its usual place. They could see it gleam in 
the uncertain light. 

“ I don’t see the door move,” said Molly, 


RINGING THE BELL. 


43 


after a moment of suspense. “You must have 
fancied it. But let ’s turn the key. I ’ll dare 
if you dare.” 

“ Hoh, hoh, hoh ! Hoh, hoh, hoh ! ” 

Surely this was no fancy. There came the 
same peculiar ringing sound again, now more 
distinct than before. The children felt that it 
was no longer a question of keys, and hastily 
retreated toward the door by which they had 
entered. 

“ Hoh, hoh, hoh ! Hoh, hoh, hoh ! ” The 
strange ghostly knell pursued them. Kirke 
clutched Molly, Molly clutched the lantern, 
and both sprang across the threshold. “ Ploh, 
hoh, hoh ! ” Midway in her flight Molly 
stopped short. Where, oh where had she re- 
cently heard that sound? What, oh what was 
it? It came to her in a flash. It was, yes, — 
she could not be mistaken, — it was Jerry 
Steele’s familiar cough ! 

“ Oh, Kirke, Kirke ! ” she gasped, pulling 


144 


LITTLE MISS WEEZY’S SISTER. 


the frightened lad backward. “ It ’s Jerry 
Steele. He is n’t at Rushville ; he ’s here in 
the church ! He truly is. Let ’s lock him 
in. Oh, let ’s not be afraid ! ” 

Kirke was no more afraid than Molly, for 
both were as frightened as they could be; 
but with hearts beating like trip-hammers 
they stole up the steps again and closed the 
outer door. In another moment Molly had 
locked it. 

“Now let’s run with all our might, Kirke, 
to tell Mr. Carr,” she cried. “ Oh, hurry, 
hurry ! ” 

Kirke needed no second bidding. The jail 
was near, and the children flew as if their feet 
had wings. 

The tired jailer, discouraged by his fruitless 
quest, at first refused to credit their wild 
story; but after they had dragged him to the 
vestibule he went boldly into the church, and 
lured on, by the noise the children had de- 



i* • - . 


and Kikke Kixgixo thp: Ta.co 145. 



^ • 4 • i»; • mi- ^ .y N-f » V • 

'•■ V£ ' K-: ' -:■■ -®e- M 






RINGING THE BELL. 


145 


scribed, came upon Jerry Steele lying on the 
pulpit sofa, fast asleep. As Mr. Carr laid 
hands on him the church clock began to 
strike nine. 

Oh, the bell ! we 'd almost forgotten the 
bell ! ” cried Molly, tearing down the aisle 
with Kirke at her heels. “ We ’ll ring it as if 
it was the Fourth of July. Mr. Carr can’t 
blame you any more, Kirke, for letting Jerry 
run off, for is n’t it we that have found 
him?” 

And they did ring so fast and so loud that 
people rushed to the church to ask where the 
fire was, and thus learned, before they slept, 
that Jerry Steele was secured. 


10 


CHAPTER XIII. 


COMPANY TO TEA. 

‘ Who put him in ? ’ ” cried Little Miss 
Weezy. 

Little Johnny Green/” answered Kirke. 

It was the next morning, and Weezy had 
only just heard of Jerry Steele’s capture. 

‘^No, no, Kirke, ’out any funning,” persisted 
she, ‘‘who put that naughty old man into my 
grandpa’s good church?” 

“ He climbed in at a back window, Weezy. 
Mr. Carr just now told me about it.” 

“ But what did Jerry do with himself that 
day after he stopped at the wood?” asked 
Molly, bringing in the Johnny-cake. 

“ That ’s the joke of it,” cried Kirke, set- 
ting the chairs around the table for breakfast. 


COMPANY TO TEA. 


147 


“You remember the rushes, Molly, across the 
road from where his horse stood? He was 
skulking in that wet place.’* 

“He was? I almost rode into it!” 

“ Of course nobody thought of looking for 
him in a bog ; and he lay there till pitch dark, 
and then hobbled back to the church.” 

“ And did n’t anybody give him anything 
to eat, — not the teeniest speck of a dough- 
nut?” asked Weezy. 

“ Oh, he helped himself to the crackers left 
over from the oyster-supper at the vestry, and 
he drank the communion wine.” 

“ I wonder it did n’t choke him,” shuddered 
Molly, running out for the coffee-pot. 

“ He meant to stay in the church garret till 
the village people had sort of forgotten about 
him; but it was so cold last night he came 
down to thaw out, and then his cough gave 
him away.” 

“Jerry must have been worn with fatigue, or 


148 LITTLE MISS WEEZY’S SISTER. 

that racking cough would have waked him,” 
said Grandma Rowe, bringing in a saucer of 
warm milk-porridge. “ I 'm confident I heard 
Toodles last night every time she mewed un- 
der my window.” 

“Poor grandma! And Toodles mewed as 
often as she brought home a kitten. That 
was six times,” cried Molly, hurrying back. 

“ Poor Toodles 1 I should say,” said grandma, 
stroking the cat. “ She must have journeyed 
at least a dozen miles since yesterday evening. 
We ’ll never send her from home again.” 

After breakfast Molly proposed making some 
gruel foi" Mrs. Filura. 

“ That ’s a happy thought, my dear,” said 
Grandma Rowe. “ Filura is so much better 
how, I think she could enjoy it.” 

“ You ’re not afraid of my troubling her, 
grandma, by carrying it to her?” 

“ Oh no. Filura said yesterday she liked to 
see you about; you were so quiet and helpful.” 


COMPANY TO TEA. 


149 


“ Oh, did she say that, grandma, — did she 
really?” said Molly, with tears in her eyes. 
She had tried hard to be kind to Mrs. Filura, 
and keep out of her way, but she had not 
supposed Mrs. Filura observed it. 

‘‘Yes, dear, I know Filura is grateful for all 
you Ve done, and I Ve meant to speak of this 
to you before. Filura seldom expresses her 
feelings. She ’s queer about that ! ” 

“ Oh, I ’ll never mind any more how queer 
she is, now I know she ’s willing to have me 
around,” mused Molly, wonderfully cheered by 
her grandma’s words. 

The consciousness that Kirke was no longer 
blamed for letting Jerry Steele escape, and 
that she herself was really liked by Mrs. Filura, 
made the ensuing November days very pleas- 
ant ones to Molly. They speeded by on wings, 
till at last came the day before Thanksgiving. 

Molly w'as busy all the morning helping 
Grandma Rowe, who expected two or three 


150 LITTLE MISS WEEZY’S SISTER. 

people, “ friends of grandpa,” on the afternoon 
train. Molly fancied it was a minister and 
his family, though she had taken no pains to 
inquire. By afternoon everything was ready 
for the company, — everything but Mrs. Filu- 
ra’s quince jelly, still simmering upon the 
kitchen stove, and the cream-of-tartar biscuits 
to be made at supper-time. Grandpa and 
grandma were preparing to go tb the station 
to bring home the guests, and they were to 
take Weezy with them. 

“We shall try to get back by six o’clock, 
Filura,” said grandma, coming out into the 
kitchen, her silver-gray bonnet on. “ Be 
sure to have supper ready. We shall all be 
hungry.” 

“ How many, many things you ’ve cooked, 
grandma ! ” cried Molly, peeping for about 
the sixth time at the tempting array of pies, 
custards, and cakes, in the pantry. “ I hope 
these people will have good appetites.” 


COMPANY TO TEA. 


I51 

“ I hope so too, Molly,” said grandma, 
with a quiet smile. “ I ’m very fond of these 
people.” 

After grandma and the others had gone 
away in the carryall, Molly, wrapped in a 
shawl, climbed up into the seat in the cherry- 
tree to read. Though so late in the season 
the day was mild, and so clear that from her 
perch Molly could distinctly see Kirke and 
John Hodges with the oxen crossing the dis- 
tant bridge. Having watched them out of 
sight, she opened her book. She was begin- 
ning the second chapter, when, interrupted by 
a wail from the kitchen, she sprang down to 
see what was the matter. 

“Matter, Miss Molly? The matter is that 
I ’m a nateral-born fool,” cried Mrs. Filura, 
striding frantically about the kitchen, tending 
her right hand as if it had been a fractious 
baby. “ I Ve upset that quince jelly onto my 
hand and scalt it most tremenjously ; and here’s 


152 


LITTLE MISS WEEZY’S SISTER. 


John gone, and your grandsir and grandma, 
and wuss ’n all, that company coming to tea ! 
For the good land, what be I going to do? ” 

“ Oh, I ’m so sorry, Mrs. Filura ! Oh, it ’s 
dreadful ! ” groaned Molly, wringing her own 
hands from sympathy. Sha n’t I go for Dr. 
Blake?” 

“Go for the doctor? Senses, no! I’ve put 
on soft soap, and that ’s as much as I can 
stand now, let alone a doctor ! ” 

“ Oh, I wish I could do something for you, 
Mrs. Filura ! Is n’t there anything that I can 
do?” 

“Yes, you can clean up that mess if you’ve 
a mind to,” answered Mrs. Filura, with a 
tragic wave of her burned hand toward the 
sticky pool smoking upon the range and rap- 
idly spreading over the floor. 

Molly looked glum. She had not expected 
this. Though honest in her desire to help 
Mrs. Filura, she had not thought of helping 


COMPANY TO TEA. 


153 


her in this way. She had wished to soothe 
her pain, not to scrub her kitchen. She had 
never offered to “ clean up that mess.” Be- 
sides, Mrs. Filura was so cross ! Molly re- 
membered with regret the interesting story 
thrown aside, and was strongly tempted to run 
back to the tree to finish it; and then she 
also remembered something her grandfather 
had read from the Bible that morning, and she 
decided to stay. The words were these: “Do 
all things without murmurings or disputings.” 

“ I will. I won’t murmur. I won’t murmur 
a bit,” mused she virtuously, as she tied an 
apron over her pretty cashmere dress, and 
kneeled to stop the advancing tide of syrup. 
“ I ’ll do all I can for Mrs. Filura, I pity her 
so.” But as her fingers grew sticky, and her 
arm grew tired, she could n’t help adding to 
herself, “ I should think Mrs. Filura might as 
much as say * please’ to me, though! Yes, 
I should, if her burn does smart!” 


154 


LITTLE MISS WEEZY’S SISTER. 


Mrs. Filura had sunk into a chair, and was 
leaning her head against the table. 

“ I feel kind o’ faint, Miss Molly,” she said 
in a weak- voice. “If you’ll be so good, I 
guess I shall have to ask you to get me to 
bed before I keel over.” 

“ If you ’ll be so good.” This little clause 
made all the difference in the world ! Molly’s 
resentment vanished, and she sprang eagerly 
to bring a glass of water. Afterward she 
flew upstairs for the phial of smelling-salts, 
and she ended by dressing Mrs. Filura’s burn 
with glycerine and cotton. 

“ Mamma put it on Kirke’s wrist last Fourth 
of July, when he scorched it with India crack- 
ers,” said she, wrapping the hand as carefully 
as she could. “Do I hurt you awfully?” 

“ No more ’n you can’t help,” replied Mrs. 
Filura, flinching. “ Now I ’ll go and lay down 
a spell. By and by I guess I can manage to 
set the table with my left hand; but the 


COMPANY TO TEA. 


155 


folks won’t get no biscuit for supper. They’ll 
have to make out with crackers.” 

“ I ’ll set the table ; I ’d like to do it,” cried 
Molly, following Mrs. Filura upstairs. “ Don’t 
get up till grandma comes. Please don’t.” 

‘^I’ll be round to oversee you, — if I can,” 
gasped Mrs. Filura, struggling with returning 
faintness. “You know where to find the tarts. 
Miss Molly, and the chicken is in the screen 
cupboard.” 

As soon as Mrs. Filura had thrown herself 
upon the bed, Molly hastily closed the door 
and rushed downstairs with a new idea. She 
would make the biscuits herself, — she, Molly 
Rowe ! Had she not at school learned how 
to make biscuits? 

“ Of course grandma would be mortified to 
have crackers for company,” thought she; 
“ and she said Mrs. Filura must have supper 
all ready at six o’clock.” 

It was now nearly five. Molly put more 


156 LITTLE MISS WEEZY’S SISTER. 

wood in the stove, and in doing it slipped in 
the pool of jelly. Plainly, that must be re- 
moved before anything else could be attempted; 
so she scraped and scrubbed, and scrubbed 
and scraped, till the stove and floor were 
clean. Then stealing upstairs she found to 
her joy that Mrs. Filura, exhausted from pain, 
had fallen asleep. 

“ Oh, if she only won’t wake till supper is 
ready ! ” said Molly to herself, stealing into 
the Snowball Room For her manicure set. “ I 
don’t want her to oversee me. I want to get 
supper all myself.” 

Having cleaned her nails, and put on a 
clean white cap and apron, she hastened down 
to the pantry. 

Let me see,” said she aloud. One quart 
of sifted flour. Where does Mrs. Filura keep 
her sieve? Oh, here behind the door. Two 
heaping teaspoonfuls of cream of tartar and an 
even teaspoonful of salt, mixed with the flour. 


COMPANY TO TEA. 


157 


Well, I Ve done that. One large spoonful of 
drippings, or butter, rubbed into the flour 
with the tips of the fingers. Here she goes ! 
Now, one teaspoonful of soda dissolved in the 
milk. Oh, bother, the milk is n’t skimmed ! 
Never mind, I ’ll skim the cream into the china 
pitcher for tea.” 

A few minutes later Molly’s biscuits were 
in the oven. 

“ Rfsing like everything, true’s you live!” 
said she, opening the oven door as soon as 
she dared. ‘‘Oh, if they’re only good enough 
for the company, won’t grandma be glad 1 ” 
It was quarter of six; there was no time to 
waste. Molly frisked off to the dining-room 
to set the table, and when the carryall drove 
up, she had supper ready, — including the tea. 

Mrs. Filura, awakened by the rattling of 
wheels, hurried down to the dining-room in a 
great flutter. “ Oh, mercy me, how could I 
have slept so long I ” thought she ; “ and here ’s 


158 LITTLE MISS WEEZY’S SISTER. 

the folks right here! I must see what that 
child has been up to, and straighten things 
out as quick as I can I ” 

Molly, with a great blotch of flour on one 
cheek, was proudly bringing in the plate of 
biscuits. Mrs. Filura’s practised eye saw their 
lightness at a glance, and that nothing was 
lacking from the table. 

“ You Ve managed complete. Miss Molly. 
You Ve got a noble supper ! ” exclaimed she, 
with a sigh of relief Then as she brushed 
away the flour she actually patted Molly’s 
cheek, — with the well hand of course, — and 
added, “ You ’ve done me a good turn. Miss 
Molly, and I sha’ n’t forget it in you ! ” 

As Molly, still holding the biscuits, stood 
smiling and blushing, hardly able to believe 
her ears, the door opened, and then she could 
hardly believe her eyes, for in walked her 
papa and mamma. 

** And I knew it all the time I ” cried Kirke, 


COMPANY TO TEA. 


159 


rushing in behind them. “ I mean, I Ve known 
it ever since morning ; and you ’ll never say 
again I could n’t keep a secret.” 

, “Oh, it’s too good to be true!” said Molly, 
with both arms about her mother’s neck. “ I 
was thinking just two minutes ago how happy 
I was ; but now I ’m the happiest girl in the 
world 1 ” 


THE END. 




University Press : John Wilson and Son, Cambridge. 



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